


Tuesday

by AuroraExecution, w3djyt



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Green Lantern (Comics), Green Lantern - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Exhibitionism, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Public Blow Jobs, Slavery, space cops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-06-09 18:18:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6917950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraExecution/pseuds/AuroraExecution, https://archiveofourown.org/users/w3djyt/pseuds/w3djyt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a Justice League mission goes wrong, Hal finds himself stuck in a slave prison with a dying Superman and a ring on low power.  With time quickly running out, will Hal be able to keep himself and Clark alive long enough for Batman to find them? And what will happen when someone from Hal's past gets involved??</p>
<p>[ Hal has a problem with being sold into slavery. Sinestro has none with buying him out of it. Bruce has suspicions and concerns. So many concerns. Clark just wants to go home. </p>
<p>The Con is only Dub if you're Batman. ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Know Thy Partner

# Prologue: Know Thy Partner

 

Keeping the protection without inciting an actual glow is surprisingly difficult. In fact, for all of Sinestro’s bluster on the topic, it’s a fairly advanced technique. Oh sure, the ring can and will mimic black and white with a certain amount of ease, but really it’s more a function of how you think about it than anything. For Hal, moving beyond that hadn’t been something he’d ever tried until several years of experience later when the light of his ring winked out on command exactly when he’d needed it to and he hadn’t thought much about it until later.

Until _now_ , really.

Because keeping a protective barrier on yourself is _easy_. It’s instinctive, even to the newest cadet. And while it’s not exactly child’s play, learning to hide your ring isn’t much different. Another trick bestowed with arrogant confidence so many years ago. But that was then, when kicking at his mentor’s heels was actually impressive, and this is now, when combining the two has to function under the incessant press of energy dampeners. It feels like a constant, thick cloud weighing him down. A cloying, ethereal _nothing_ that makes it harder to think and harder to maintain.

He can’t remember the last time they’d found slavers with this kind of tech, but the thought does little to raise his mood. Not when he looks over to Clark and sees _blood_ on the Kryptonian. It just feels _wrong_ to see the wounds: cuts and bruises that are far from lethal but should never have appeared in the first place. His own body aches – just a little, just enough, because these slavers knew a good sale when they saw one even if they didn’t know _him_.

Frankly, he’s a little glad they don’t know _him_.

If he’s just some random Green Lantern that happens to match the popular aesthetic for the moment, then surely once he’s without a ring it’s safe to keep him around to fetch back the price of acquisition and then some. Surely, throwing him in a cell with his depowered friend will demoralize them both well enough to make them more amenable to sale. He’s not exactly _thrilled_ to understand slaver mentality so well, but he’s long since learned to count small blessings.

Hal scoots to his right, sliding himself closer to Clark again and tagging his shoulder lightly. “Hey. How’re you holding up?” Part of him wishes he didn’t know just how much sanity a little conversation could bring in moments like this. Part of him is just glad to know it.

Clark is exhausted.  There is no good way to explain the side effects of kryptonite poisoning, he thinks, except for exhaustion.  After all these years, after being exposed so many times, well -- on the one hand, it still hurts like hell, like his bones are turning to liquid inside him, but accompanying that is just a deep fatigue that saps his strength and makes it difficult to stay upright. 

" _Fine_ ," he manages for Hal, trying to sound as all right as possible, because he knows what the protocol is, and knows what Hal _should_ have done.  In any case, Clark would have made the same choice had their roles been reversed.  There's going to be no living with Bruce when they get back, though.  Clark is fairly confident in their ability to, since, well, _Bruce_ is probably on the case by now and Clark has yet to meet someone who can outplay Bruce.

“That’s a lie,” Hal notes, but keeps his voice light, almost teasing. “C’mon, these guys don’t have the tech for English and you need to let me know how many hours you’ve got.” He leans back against the wall, gaze flicking towards the door and up to the corners where he’s pretty sure there’s some kind of surveillance in place, but can’t see it. “I’d check the ring, but, you know.” He makes a vague gesture with his hand.

“I'll be—” He has to break off to swallow down the scream in his throat, but he makes it.  “—okay.  I don't know how long—” Another break, another round of shutting his eyes and focusing on the process of breathing.  “Bruce would know.”  

“Slow breaths, Big Guy,” Hal murmurs, reaching out to pat Clark’s knee lightly. Kryptonite poisoning’s a tricky thing. You wouldn’t think about it at first because most people just see Superman react. Watch him recoil and gasp and struggle to stand. They think it’s instantaneous, but Hal knows better.

He’s never had the chance to really get the details straight, but he knows, after so many encounters, that Clark plays up the first hit. Those first moments are important in a fight. Sometimes, it buys enough time for someone else to knock it out of play. Sometimes, it just makes them more unprepared for Superman himself bowling them over regardless. His instincts are a brawler’s and that’s something Hal can wrap his head around.

But he also understands that a lot of the ‘how bad’ and ‘how long’ depends on variables he doesn’t normally account for in a battle. How much Kryptonite, for one thing. Neither of them ever saw the initial hit and whatever amount has been worked into the collars slapped on their necks is hidden in the inner workings of the metal itself. He also doesn’t know how long it’s been since Clark last got a full blast power-up from a yellow sun. Clark does, but he seems pretty fuzzy on details right now and it’s concerning, sure, but there’s not much he can do about it, so he doesn’t ask.

Bruce _would_ know.

“... Fortunately for us both, he’s not here.” Hal glances at his hand and the finger he knows his ring is on but is just as incapable of seeing as anyone else at the moment. Contemplates how much more he can put into the shield barely keeping full-on kryptonite poisoning at bay. Every little bit more is a little bit less time he has to keep it in place. For once, he decides against the gamble. “So what sort of timeframe do you guys have?”

"Timeframe?"  Clark looks surprised, even beneath all the agony.

“You know… average span of time it takes for the other one to show up?” Hal prods. “Earth Standard. You can keep it general. I know slavers aren’t your usual M.O.”

"We don't really have—anything like that."  A fond smile touched his lips momentarily.  "He doesn't usually take—long."

“Yeah, I bet. Hell, he’s probably pissed at me for taking his spot.” The words come easily. Offhanded comments he’s made before. Lighthearted jokes he’ll make the next time he’s worried over a companion’s health.

"Probably."  The smile spreads, despite all the reasons it shouldn't.  Clark can imagine Bruce brooding over a console, creating the _perfect_ plan to come save them. "Banana muffin," Clark mumbles, chuckling to himself briefly before gritting his teeth again.

“Oookay, I’m just going to assume that’s an inside joke and not you slowly losing your marbles over here,” Hal teases, beating down the fear that just crept up inside him with practiced ease and a broad smile. “So how about it? Story time?”

Clark huffs a brief laugh at that.  "Bruce and I—were on a mission.  I—made a joke, that 'banana muffin' could be—his code for asking for help."  He has to pause again to breathe, but pushes on.  "He ended up—using it."

Hal barks a sharp laugh, grinning from ear to ear and swats Clark’s knee again. “You get to have all the fun! I would have _paid_ to see that. Don’t know what _with_ , of course, but I’d have found a _way_ , _shit_.” His ring registers the heavier strain on Clark’s lungs, warns him of a myriad of medical conditions, all of which he ignores, along with the warnings about timeframes and battery life as he pushes the settings just a little bit higher.

The fog around his senses seems to thicken and press in on him, but he keeps the strain from his expression. He can’t let their captors see and wonder over something that shouldn’t be bothering him. More importantly, though, he can’t let Clark see. Not while they still have time. He just has to keep them like this, in this nebulous moment away from signs of how much time has passed and hope he doesn’t have to make a case in the broken Sector Standard he’s familiar with that _poisoning_ their prize Kryptonian won’t fetch them as good of a price on the open market.

If all goes well, they should be out before that becomes an issue… but it’s been years since he’s had that kind of backup and Hal is all too familiar with the kinds of trouble even a Green Lantern ring can run into when sending out maydays in space. Especially hostile space. Knows that had his message been properly received, they should have had backup by now, and continues making plans to handle it in the meantime.

 

* * *

 

 

It's been _years_ , grumps Sinestro to himself.  He'd thought they were done with this sort of thing—after all, Jordan had a whole Corps that listened to his every request nowadays.  At the very least he could have called for help from his little friends on Earth, either from all of his little appendix Lanterns or Hal's precious Justice League.  Perhaps he _had_ , which is what makes Sinestro's little trip across sectors more than a little unwise. 

He supposes he could have just _ignored_ the call instead, but -- it's Jordan, after all.  Sinestro's never been good at ignoring Jordan, especially when the human truly needs him.  And this _had_ been a ring-to-ring direct distress signal, which meant there was _some_ chance Jordan's only call for help was now in Sinestro's hands.  Lyssa had called it a trap, but Sinestro knows Hal better than the human knows himself.  Jordan is too direct, not wily enough, and even if someone else (like that bat fellow Sinestro would still like to recruit) had suggested it, Hal would have been too stuck on doing things the _right_ way, to allow that kind of trap.  That, and Sinestro likes to think he can take whatever force that kind of trap would send out.  He has a Qwardian ring, after all. 

Still, once he's within visual distance of the planet that Jordan's distress signal came from, Sinestro switches his uniform to stealth and starts a reconnaissance loop to check for any pesky Green Lanterns, signs that Jordan might be all right after all (not that he expected that to be the case, based on the area of space they're in), or any other oddities. 

He discovers two: first, that his ring is suddenly draining at an alarming rate, and second, that there's a small black spaceship hovering just inside orbit, clearly cloaked.  Sinestro's coming at it from behind, and he's also wielding a ring, so he can see it fairly clearly.  Scanning as he flies, Sinestro makes a circuit of the ship, eyebrow raising as his ring pings a single time. 

< One Earth human. >

Nothing else pings by the time he reaches the end of his loop, so he's left to make some conclusions.  There are only a few humans who would be out here, and based on the distress signal this one definitely isn't Hal Jordan.  (Hal would not have sent a signal if he hadn't been captured -- Hal would have assumed he still had this and continued on his own.  Also Hal would have been flying.)  That leaves the little band of Green Lanterns, and the few human members of Hal's League.  The Green Lanterns likewise would have been flying, and anyway would not have thought to bring a spaceship.  Based on his general knowledge of the League members, and how black and... finned the spaceship is, Sinestro is fairly certain he knows which League member it is. 

Curious.  Why would Batman come to slaver space with Jordan? 

Chances are, it was the Kryptonian.  It's _always_ the Kryptonian, when it comes to Batman. 

But his ring hadn't pinged a Kryptonian on board the ship, which meant—it wasn't just Jordan who had managed to get himself captured, most likely.  Sinestro glances at his ring again. 

< 50% > 

He doesn't exactly _need_ help, but it might make certain things easier.  Sinestro floats leisurely over to the main window and stares in at Batman, waiting for the man to notice. 

A bolt of energy shoots out from the ship and Sinestro, though slightly surprised, swiftly moves out of its trajectory.  Apparently Batman _had_ , in fact, noticed. 

"I believe our paths are aligned for once, Batman," he calls into the void.  He keeps his hands clasped behind his back and floats as harmlessly as possible.  "Allow me to speak with you."

“Then speak.” Batman’s gruff demand comes not from an outer speaker or an open subspace channel, but rather the same, coded frequency shared between power rings. The energy from his previous welcome fades quickly, and a strange sort of heatless thruster opens to one side of the vessel, pushing him carefully closer to a larger piece of debris.

Sinestro's eyes narrow.  He generally prefers to have more information rather than bluffing on his (likely correct) assumptions, but—

"I believe we have... shared interests, in that they have both been captured into the slave trade on this planet."

Silence stretches between them for a long moment before Batman’s gruff voice rolls through the same frequency once more. “… Why are you here?” he flatly demands, but the edge of his words are curled in faint curiosity – as if he can’t quite sort it out on his own.

"As I said," Sinestro responds, smirking a little.  " _Interests_."

“Interests that won’t be benefitted any more by _your_ ring running out of energy than it would lanterns’ typical style of ‘handling things’.” Irritation bleeds into Batman’s words: open and unfettered.

"Interests that sent out a distress call to me and are therefore my business," Sinestro replies, just as blunt.  "Interests that have been in similar positions in the past, which I have time and again resolved."  He pauses, and the smirk comes back briefly.  " _Your_ interests certainly won't benefit from your complete lack of information about slaver culture."

A brief pause follows and then, “Get inside before they hear the comm chatter.”

Sinestro thinks it's about time, and flies over to the airlock that's sliding open.  As he waits for the external door to shut and the atmospheric change, he notices in the dark there's some glowing green writing that says "HAL WUZ HERE", which vanishes when the pressurization completes and the lights come back on.

The door slides open and the darkness moves, coalescing into a familiar, heavy cape that drapes straight to the metal floor. Batman turns away with a brusque nod, leading his momentary ally further into the ship. It’s as much a show of confidence as it is one of trust, and he’s certain the former(?) supervillain will understand perfectly. The room he leads them to is sparse, with a pedestal in the middle and three chairs built into the walls on each side. Like the rest of the small vessel, it’s a clearly utilitarian affair whose use springs to life with a hologram above the room’s central podium.

“We have six, maybe seven hours maximum,” he opens with, turning slightly back towards the Korugarian to catch his reaction. Observation can tell you more than a lifetime of data in a file and he’s counting on that now when all of his data is of histories and clashes rather than cooperation and motivation. He’s certain that, given enough time, that same skill will have given him the information he needs to make his move within the compound.

But then _time_ is the exact problem he’d been contemplating when Sinestro showed up. It’s not Clark that had six hours, really: it’s Hal. Well, based on the readings he’s so far found of the energy dampening fields constantly draining the rings, Hal really should have had closer to twelve. But the man is impulsive and brashly emotional: too much so to ever watch Clark suffer so badly and not push the limit a little to keep him more comfortable. So six it is and he waits on Sinestro’s reply to determine how to best proceed, still not entirely convinced the man’s fortuitous presence is quite so altruistic as it seems.

Sinestro doesn't betray any inner thoughts.  He's careful around Batman, even knowing that Batman by and large can be considered Hal's friend.  "And you have a daring plan to save them, I suppose?"

Bruce’s lips thin to a line and he turns back to the console, tapping in a sequence of commands that expands the image of the planet and the surrounding vessels out around them and zooms in, instead, on the halls within. “I can get in,” he shortly explains. “Additional scans for the interior have a higher chance of drawing their attention, however. The atmosphere is suitable for reconnaissance, but the amount of information I would need to gather at once… stretches our time limit.”

The image shifts again, zooming out just slightly and this time he points to a group of large buildings that are set just slightly off from the rest. “The dampening field is fractionally stronger here. They undulate it in a way that makes it almost undetectable, but the source has to be here. Their protection is subtler but more robust, and the slight power boost to the field cannot be entirely erased. Captives, however, are here – ” The image turns slightly and he gestures to a larger cluster of tall buildings that might have been apartments on another planet. “Handling the dampening field and mapping the interior layout of the cells would have been a stretch at six hours. Infiltration is not difficult… I will just need time alone with their systems and it won’t take too long to disable the dampening field. If they aren’t ready to move when that happens, though, it won’t end well.”

Sinestro cares little about the rest of the operation, but he also knows that this alliance is founded on the fact that two captives are within.  That, and he just _hates_ the idea of not doing it _right_.  It's a matter of pride, at this point. 

"At the rate of drain from the dampeners, I will have limited use of my ring," he explains, suddenly dropping into a didactic tone.  "It would benefit us both for you to provide the necessary intimidation to recharge my ring, even if a small amount.  As for the rest, I shall infiltrate and make contact with Jordan, and create the distraction you desire."  He just needs Bruce's ship.  There's no way he's getting far with this level of dampening, especially if Hal is going to be with him.

It doesn’t take much to piece together the statement, but it’s a little… blunt. For all of Hal’s explanations of the spectrum of power that served as the rings’ energy source, Bruce had always felt there was a bit more… finesse to it than that. “It won’t be much – will it even prove substantial at that distance? More than the fear of the prisoners themselves?” Still, having two ring bearers ready to jump the moment the dampening field is down is better than one, and he’s seen enough of Sinestro’s predilections in battle to trust that survival will win out over any other more nefarious plans.

"Enough?  No, but it will be _something_."

“My first priority will be the dampening device and accessing their systems.” It’s something of a warning the way Batman growls it out, but he taps the screen off all the same and turns to face Sinestro directly. “What are you planning to do with that kind of boost?”

"Escort Jordan away from this... terrible place," replies Sinestro with a smirk.

Batman’s scowl returns full force. “No one leaves unless we all leave,” he curtly announces. “Just dropping the dampening field won’t be enough to accomplish that.”

Sinestro knows he'll need Batman, at the very least to leave.  "Wouldn't that be _your_ responsibility, as those are _your_ interests?"

The white lenses narrow sharply. “Which is why I developed a plan and why this ship will not leave orbit without my command. Any distraction you provide only benefits how quickly I can work.”

" _I_ \--"  Sinestro puts special emphasis on the word.  "--will extract Jordan while you run your surveillance.  I will require some materials."

A long silence follows as Batman attempts to discern exactly how concerned he should be and mentally runs the numbers again on possible scenarios without the dubious ‘help’ of Thaal Sinestro. The solution to which is all too obvious when he simply replies, “What sort of materials?”

Sinestro's smile widens.  "Cloth.  Makeup.  Prosthetics, if you humans have them."

Batman says nothing and presses a panel by the door, which prompts all the chairs along the walls to fold up on their own before both walls slide open with a hiss to reveal a colorful array of fabric, makeup and, yes, even prosthetics.

Sinestro grudgingly allows a little respect to show on his face.  It’s an impressive collection, and Sinestro can’t help being at least a _little_ impressed.  He doesn't move yet, though, and turns his smirk back to Batman.  "I assume, then, that you _would_ like my help?"

“We’ll need to make two drop-offs. Their security protocols indicate a likelihood of being scanned or otherwise encountered when we dock. I’m going down in twenty minutes. The ship will take you to dock in thirty. Be ready.” A blunt and inelegant conversation and then Batman slips back into the bowels of his ship.


	2. Hide and Seek

#  Hide and Seek 

For a society that makes such an effort to secure their space, their ground security detail is markedly lacking. Or at least it is for someone with the ridiculous amount of experience handling technology not native to his own _galaxy_ as Bruce has unfortunately gathered in the past decade. The exact systems, once he has access to them, should be fairly simple to manipulate; getting to them a matter of simply slipping his hands lower on humanoid bodies to induce momentary blackouts and fainting spells.

He's too careful to leave trace elements in the form of smoke and chemical solutions before he can finish observing their reactions to abnormalities in patrol and unexpected system access. On some level, Bruce finds himself wishing he _wasn't_ quite so good at these things. Then, of course, there's a certain amount of pride in understanding how to adjust technique for a species he's only just encountered, and certainly the windfall of victory when he actually manages to protect someone. Not to mention the challenge of perfecting his body’s reactions and his mind's ability to keep up.

And it’s that same skill that lets him slip through bright hallways unseen and cut through an outside environment with slightly more oxygen than he is familiar with. The same thrill that gives him the ability to focus the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he traces his way through unfamiliar corridors, up into cramped ducts, and silently back down into the primary system control for the dampening field this planet seemed to have dumped all of its technological know-how into creating.

It's here, finally, that Bruce finds himself thankful for the burden of experience that gives him so much as a starting point.

The screen is all but intelligible. The interface is, well, _foreign_. He's not even sure he can classify the rest. The translation capability reverse engineered from Hal's ring ages ago seems to finally stumble, and too often he has to dart into a corner, reach around a waist, or glance over an unsuspecting shoulder to investigate further.

The batsuit is not made for crowds.

Bright lights. Crowds. Undecipherable computer systems.

... and a Kryptonian suffering potentially lethal kryptonite poisoning locked up in another facility several miles east with an underpowered hotshot, an intergalactic warlord and, oh yeah, the people actually keeping them for sale.

"Must be Tuesday," he mutters under his breath, deep in a crevice, trying to make the alien system interface with his suit's capabilities. He can practically hear the lighthearted commentary on the heels of a backflip. This is exactly the situation that makes him keep his strange family planetside as often as possible. It's also the exact sort of situation that makes him regret taking none of them with him.

Which one was it that started the obsession with Tuesday anyway? Even Damien had been picking it up recently. Dick, then? He tugs another cable out from the edge of his gauntlet, slices open another line inside the machine he is half under and half inside of, and binds the two thin filaments together. It will be a sturdier connection, and a faster exchange of data. No, Dick likes those horrible puns more than anything. Always has. Tuesday was more of a - Stephanie? Bruce frowns at the readout, contemplative. Misses the too knowing voice in his ear and Oracle's simple, curt confirmations. How Barbara's dry wit ever survived Dick's gleeful murder of the English language is anyone's guess.

Tim?

Is it bad that, out of all the people he could have possibly gotten stuck in this situation with he knows _exactly_ which of his brood he'd prefer to have at his side in this moment? Well, they'd be replacing _Thaal Sinestro_ after all; it's a fairly low bar, considering. Still, he knows where he'd rather be at the moment, and it's not doing the part of the plan that involves reverse engineering the indecipherable technology of an alien society he has never before come into contact with. He _knows_ Hal has enough sense to send out a mayday when someone _else_ is in trouble, at least. You'd think there'd be a battalion of Green Lanterns here by now.

Not what he'd prefer, but better than current company, at any rate.

A soft chime sounds directly in his ear. One task down. The ring's translation abilities with language were formidible, but pattern recognition has _yet_ to fail him when it comes to quick and dirty hacking. "Thank you, _Tim_ ," he breathes, making a mental note to force the kid into a vacation for at least a day when he gets home. He hasn't had the time to update that particular system in _months_. When every extra minute is a step closer to unrecoverable loss, he'll take every moment he can get.

Now to make the connection mobile.

 

* * *

 

 

Exactly thirty minutes later, Batman’s ship has presumably locked down all of its secret compartments and flown toward the main docking bay, and Sinestro is standing at the main boarding door, making an expression of sneering impatience.  At the least, this Batman is accurate about things. 

Below, a few assistants jog back and forth, glancing periodically in Sinestro's direction before dashing off again, intimidated.  Sinestro smirks, the feeling of inciting even a little fear in others making him feel just that much more at home. 

Across the bay, doors slide open.  A woman, clearly much more highly ranked than the others in the room, walks briskly toward Sinestro, accompanied by an entourage.

"My apologies for our... hasty welcome," she begins, solid black eyes narrowing at idling crewman in the moments they hesitate beneath Thaal's gaze and then sliding back to her guest apparent. "We did not have any... scheduled... appointments for the day." She pauses several feet from Sinestro, the carefully folded foil of gold robes trailing after, which her attendants at hand keep from catching on consoles or snagging on anything on the floor.

"I am K'lara of Jhidzan. Allow me to welcome you to T'lera. We are happy to have your patronage. May I ask which of our satisfied clientele referred us to your glorious person?"

"No, you may not," Sinestro snaps back, letting the sneer linger as he faces her.  "I have a-- _celebration_ upcoming.  My assistant claims that your _product_ \--” Sinestro adds a tone to the word that is generally only reserved for Green Lanterns.  "--is the highest quality I could want.  Is this the case or not?"

K'lara inclines her head placidly, the hint of a smirk curling the edges of darkly tinted lips. "Your assistant was right to send you to us. We have the finest stock for several sectors - all well-tended - and our variety is second to none." She turns just slightly, one pale hand raised in a delicate gesture that sends an attendant scurrying, the gaudy jewels dangling over bare chest and slim hips jingling softly in the sound dampened docking bay.

"We respect your time, our gracious patron, so allow me to expedite your visit here today," she begins again, looking back to Sinestro and gesturing with a broad sweep of her arm away from the ship and the rest of the docking bay. "As always, the whole of our offerings are available at all times - from the most purebred and carefully raised to our fresh acquisitions. Additionally, we have many specialties of service available. If it pleases you, we can discuss your preferences, method of payment and preferred value range.

"We have already assigned you an account against which all purchases will be tallied and have many loyalty programs available if you are interested. Complete anonymity does, of course, incur a significant surcharge, but is available upon request on a per purchase basis. In which way would you prefer we address you?"

Sinestro's lip curls briefly.  All is going spectacularly according to plan.  "You may call me Lord Aton.  Let us discuss preferences now; we may return to the business side of matters should I find something I like."  The trick, of course, is to behave like the most spoiled of the powerful in the universe, and Sinestro's met _many_ of those in his time.  That, and demands -- demands (rather than requests) give people the impression that Sinestro is used to being obeyed, which is not altogether untrue.

“Of course, Lord Aton, however please be aware that we do require payment before you depart with your purchases today. I’m sure you can understand the hazards of credit in this day and age,” she liltingly returns in tones of gracious humor and continues to guide them towards the doors and the hallways beyond. “Given the formidable nature of some methods of payment, we do also allow a small down payment to hold your product for twenty rotations – but all of this, as you requested, can be discussed at a later time, though I am certain we have something to suit your needs if you would share them with me?”

This is not Sinestro's first time doing this -- he still has money on hand for just this purpose -- but this way Sinestro's in control, rather than K'lara.  "As I said," he begins, adjusting his stance slightly so that the partly-open robe stretches across his chest suggestively, "this will be for a celebration.  I mean it to be a gift for myself, as it were."

"Ah, yes, it must have been a splendid conquest for such spoils," she far more eagerly agrees, shamelessly re-examining her customer's form a tad more thoughtfully than one might expect. "Shall I assume a similar species, then? Have you mind for the strange and unknown or the rare and exotic? Is it another conquest you seek, or more... cultured pleasures?"

"I do like exotic things," Sinestro replies, almost as though he's speaking offhand about a favored style of clothing.  "But certainly, a conquest would suit the occasion best, don't you agree?"  He pauses, as though considering, and stretches again.  "Although -- an _obedient_ slave has its merits as well."

“A man of your presence? If I may, Lord Aton, I have never known a warrior to be truly satisfied with the bounty of another’s battle. Of course, have you wish to spoil yourself in the moment, we can accommodate,” K’lara carefully proposes, continuing to watch Sinestro in the manner of an oracle trying to divine the future from mists. “However, if you wish a long standing reminder of your current triumph, I think you would find our newer acquisitions more enticing. They have not the training and care of our purebred lines, but then… that’s part of the enjoyment, is it not?” By the end, her voice is a low purr to match the deeply satisfied smile of a hunter with their prey in sight.

Sinestro finds the slave trade incredibly distasteful (albeit fairly inevitable), but he has to admit K'lara is very good at what she does.  "I must say you have a point," he replies, almost pensive.  It's not entirely untrue either; one of the things he's always liked about Hal is the _challenge_.  "Let us start there."

K’lara nods and briefly flashes a set of fangs in the slightest moment of pride in her success and turns down a separate hall to their left as if she had been heading there all along. It’s white walls and wide berth are not so different than the ones they have travelled down before, though the floor feels a might rougher underfoot – something that might be uncomfortable to wander through barefoot. “Then we need only narrow down the _type_ of challenge you would enjoy – and the nature of your desires. I can see you appreciate physical strength; however, I do not think I would be remiss to say your preferences do not lean _entirely_ in that direction. Am I correct to believe you wish something more than a physical challenge?”

"I admit the physical challenge is of great appeal to me."  Sinestro considers, playing up the gestures of thought he'd once seen from Abin.  "But I believe you have the right of it, there is something... _more_ I want."  He lets his convincing thoughtfulness extend just a little longer before a cruel smile begins to spread across his mouth.  "Defiance."

At this, K'lara tilts her head in a more thoughtful motion, clearly cataloguing the possible options that left. "And form? Have you a particular preference or any requirements to your enjoyment of it?"

Sinestro measures his responses, ensures it's not too eager, nor suspiciously specific.  "I am... open-minded.  Thus far I have preferred my playthings with similar body types to my own, although gender type is inconsequential."

“Then I am certain we have the perfect solution to your search,” K’lara announces with a knowing smile, extending her hand so that a small data pad is carefully placed into it by one of her feminine entourage. “So tell me your thoughts,” she somewhat offhandedly poses while carefully making selections on the pad, “on Green Lanterns. I would imagine they have caused you some trouble if only to get here, yes?”

With a well-placed look of confusion, Sinestro blusters: "They are a nuisance, certainly, but nothing I cannot handle."  With disguises, the easiest way to come across as genuine is to tell the truth.

A last, decisive selection and K’lara lowers her pad just as a light blazes red over a door only a few hundred feet further down the hall. “They _are_ headstrong, however… difficult to break.” She turns to Sinestro while handing the pad back to an attendant, expression purposefully mild with all the tells of someone hiding a treasure behind their back. “The _perfect_ challenge for someone who enjoys taking their time, don’t you think?”

" _Excellent_."  Sinestro's expression is pulled from his most triumphant moments as an intergalactic supervillain.  He licks his lips obscenely.  "Let us view the goods, shall we?"

K’lara allows herself a small, triumphant smirk as well, knowing she’s chosen correctly. “It’s not every day we receive such a rare shipment. In fact, we have not yet finished a rotation since they arrived,” she murmurs as they draw closer to the door. “Good fortune smiles upon you, Lord Aton, to be given first chance at such a prize.” She stops just a few feet before the door, leaving space for a guard to arrive, seemingly out of nowhere, to handle the authorization codes and step in before them. Only then does the presence of other similarly attired security personnel become known.

Hal is on his feet by the time they enter the room, door hissing shut as the guard steps menacingly closer. He keeps his stance between Clark and the newcomers, openly protective and eyeing the lot of them carefully. When the guard takes another step closer, he steps back again, arms up placatingly. “Easy there, Big Guy, I’m not starting anything yet. No worries, just saying hi, right?”

“Is his occupation not obvious?” K’lara murmurs in amusement. “Bipedal, warm blooded, mammalian, and – according to our scans – in the peak of health,” she continues. “We are not yet familiar with his primary language, but he does appear to mostly _understand_ standard, even if his vocabulary is limited.”

Of _course_.  Hal never _had_ put much focus on learning his sector's standard.  Sinestro has to work to hold back a smile.  He looks over Hal proprietarily, letting the act of Lord Aton merge with his natural possessiveness of Hal. 

"You have chosen _well_ , K'lara," he replies, "I'd like to inspect this one more... closely.  Never purchase something you haven't looked over, after all."

“You are welcome to a closer look, of course,” she answers, with a short gesture to the human, which makes Hal slide a suspicious gaze to ‘Lord Aton’, guard clearly up for all he tries to keep it down.

“Clark,” Hal mutters, half under his breath, head turned aside to glance briefly over his shoulder at the Kryptonian behind him. “Stay down – I’ve got this.”

Clark makes a quiet grunt of acknowledgement, but figures it's safest to leave it at that.  He still turns as much as possible to keep an eye on Hal, though--he knows Hal's temperament. 

Across the room, Sinestro swaggers over toward the barely-clothed human.  He stops an inch away from Hal and looks the man up and down, deliberately slow, then reaches out a hand to lift Hal's chin toward him.

Hal’s eyes narrow, clenching and unclenching his fists to keep from immediately lashing out at the man looking him over with an air of smug entitlement he’s only ever been able to apply to those who separate themselves from the rest of the universe. Slave owners, often royalty, always villains, and this man seems to have at least two of the three so far. At least, the deep blue robes he’s wearing seem high class, and the complete ease and sheer _expectation_ the man exudes speaks of someone used to getting what they want.

So Hal grins at him, gaze sparking in challenge. “Enjoying the view?” he taunts, sticking to English just to irritate, even if he was fairly sure of the words in Sector Standard.

It's such classic Hal Jordan, that Sinestro has to turn the smile threatening his lips into a smirk.  "Mmm, yes," he replies in 2814 Standard, pausing _just_ long enough to make Hal question whether Sinestro actually understood him.  "He has a pleasing face.  And a pleasing... defiance."  He reiterates that last part for K'lara, to reinforce how much ‘Lord Aton’ likes this prospective slave.

Confused uncertainty flashes across Hal’s expression for the briefest moment, and then he twists back, jerking his chin out of a surprisingly firm grip. Now that he takes the second to notice – in-between glancing towards K’lara in order to brace himself for any retaliation – the buyer seems less like self-important nobility and more the triumphant warlord. Muscle tends to work fairly similarly across races and this man has enough that, well, in another situation he might even be interested. Right now, it makes him frown.

“It seems… you may have caught his eye as well,” K’lara keenly notes, amusement curling her lips and a soft laugh slipping past when the words startle her captive into staring briefly at her instead. His expression swiftly turns all but acidic. “And so full of fire. Lanterns can make for splendid companions once properly trained. Always so very willful. It’s quite enchanting.”

"All the better," Sinestro intones, taking the time to smirk smugly down at Hal.  After a moment, he begins again.  "Now, for a closer look."  Sinestro slides a hand down Hal's bare chest, which is enjoyable as always.   As he sees Superman glaring at him over Hal's shoulder, Sinestro simply drops his free hand to Hal's ass and squeezes, clearly testing but still firm.

Hal knows better than to jerk away from the touch: far too many similar experiences remind him to draw things out and play them up over getting himself into a worse situation (and certainly, there are far worse scenarios he is also too familiar with). Still, his captor’s words spike adrenaline through him and turns the covetous touch to something far worse. Something that turns him away and lurches him back against the hold – up until those powerful fingers slip down _under_ his ass and press firmly into the crease between the curve of his butt cheek and the top of his inner thigh.

He stops, expression incredulous and brown eyes wide.

Because he _knows_ that grip.

The second passes and he quickly pretends to choke back a noise of pleasure before his reaction can register as anything other than an unexpected brush to an erogenous zone he hadn’t expected. The woman in gold appears to buy it if her deepening smugness is any indication and it gives Hal a moment to test the grip by wiggling out of it with a sharp, “No,” bitten off in Sector Standard. The movement swivels his hips to another angle, making it more enticing to grab elsewhere and in different ways.

Aha.  Sinestro's plan had banked entirely on the fact that Hal would recognize him by touch (or fondle, more accurately), and now it is all coming to fruition.  Without hesitation, Sinestro follows this new angle, but only far enough to repeat the gesture, clearly very pleased.  "This one will be perfect for my celebration."  Then he leans over to stage whisper in Hal's ear, "I will show you unknown pleasures, Lantern."

"Hal--"  Clark pushes himself up into an upright position and it's all he can do for now.

Hal is halfway through a deep shudder when his mind manages to recognize the control device K’lara raises in Clark’s direction and instinctively tries to move forward and block the movement. He’s not entirely upset that it ends up rocking him forward against – Sinestro. It’s definitely Sinestro. Here. Trying to purchase him from slavers just like he’d had to so many times during their years in the same corps.

He _really_ shouldn’t have been so relieved.

“Don’t,” he calls out to their captor, the word clear even if his accent remains a little strange – something even he can hear as he says it. Still, it’s enough to make her pause and give him her attention. He swallows, letting the riot of emotion and sensation project nervousness and fear instead of the conglomeration of inappropriate arousal and hope that quickens his pulse. “Please.”

“They really are much more cooperative with the slightest bit of leverage,” K’lara muses, sounding almost disappointed. “I wonder who this one is to him,” she continues, gaze critical as it lingers on Hal once more. “They try to guard each other so fiercely… I am told they battled valiantly and were captured together. The other is Kryptonian: there is little rarer and still so exquisite. Given the right environment he too could prove a formidable challenge, if the pair strikes you…?”

Sinestro almost jumps at the chance, but a quick analysis gives him pause.  He could probably drum up the sum through his accounts to pay for both, despite the clear indication that Superman would cost significantly more.  That being said, it would be difficult, and the amount he has with him will likely be enough for what slavers often referred to as a "prime payment", but only for Hal.  On top of that, it's obvious Superman is not going to be easily mobile if anything happens, and he and Hal will almost certainly complain if Sinestro tried to leave without Batman.  And as far as Sinestro could tell when he landed, Batman had (to his credit) intentionally disabled the spacecraft so that they _couldn't_ leave without him. 

In the end, he thinks it's safer to go with Hal for now, and use the man as a distraction.  He makes an Ungaran hand gesture of denial. 

"I have no interest in a weakened, pathetic creature like that.  No, I will take this fine specimen."

Clark, shaking with effort, has managed to push himself up with one foot under him.  "Hal--" he tries again, unwilling to let Hal do this for him.

If she’s let down by Sinestro’s response, K’lara is too careful to show it, and instead nods her assent. “Very well, perhaps another time. Guard.”

The large man lurches forward on command – again from an unnatural stillness that made him all but vanish into the background. Hal gives a start in spite of himself, but quickly turns after, when he sorts out the implied order. “Stop,” he barks again, still mostly entangled and pushing away - knowing Sinestro would allow him at least the little space he needs to catch K’lara’s attention again. “ _Please_ ,” he repeats, just as Sin’s grip tightens again, and makes a show of dragging him back. “He can’t.”

K’lara’s expression is shrewd, but she makes a short gesture that immediately recalls the guard from forcibly settling Clark. “You will not be here to protect him anymore, Little Lantern. If he refuses to be gentled-”

“It’s okay, Clark,” Hal hisses rather than listen to the rest of the threat. He turns as much as he can to try and catch Clark’s gaze, wanting to reassure even when he knows he can’t say or do much. Language barrier notwithstanding, you can tell a lot just by how someone reacts, so he has to be careful. “Just play nice. We’re not leaving without-” the rest of his words are cut off by a sharp, painful _jolt_ not unlike being shocked, but without the heat and lingering disorientation.

“Our collars are top of the line,” K’lara conversationally announces, holding the small remote out for Lord Aton’s approval. “It’s not a traditional shock – nothing that will leave a mark, and far more sanitary than older models. We include them in the purchase of all our high end product. I would be glad to go over the details of operation once we have finalized the numbers.”

Sinestro’s eyes narrow slightly at the shock, but he does his best to play it off as concern about damage, which he shrugs off once she explains.  He nods curtly, replying, “Let us negotiate payment, then.  I find myself… _impatient_.”

 

* * *

 

 

The moment the door shuts behind the coterie of slave traders and client (and, unfortunately, Hal), Clark starts to...well, not _panic_ exactly, but he's more nervous about this than he otherwise would be.  He's not exactly a stranger to death, even if he'd rather not die like this--he'd rather go out fighting than gasping for breath and trying not to scream, and just kind of hoping someone will come save Hal from whatever Hal just got himself into. 

Clark trusts Hal, but it's mostly that he trusts Hal to do what's necessary to save people and the world.  He doesn't really trust Hal to watch out for his own well-being.  Clark's?  Bruce's?  Every single Green Lantern from Mogo down to that one that looks like a squirrel?  Sure.  But Hal himself--well, it's well-known throughout the League that Hal spends a lot of nights on Barry's couch due to not having a place to stay.  Clark gets it; he wouldn't exactly be thinking about rent if he were in space constantly either.  Still, that doesn't really inspire him with confidence that Hal isn't about to do something bad for himself just to try to help Clark.  And Clark would rather die ignominiously than have Hal do that to himself. 

At this point, everything just sort of hurts. 

Thinking is taking him down unpleasant pathways, but it focuses him, and that helps him ignore the pain a little better.  It's a trick Bruce helped him come up with, years ago in a different kryptonite crisis.  It's too bad Bruce isn't around right now, although probably for the best.  Even knowing Bruce probably has the best chance of survival out of all of them in situations like this, where the enemy can depower the rest of them, Clark is still grateful Bruce got to avoid the slave prison.  That, and it's infinitely reassuring to know that Bruce is out there somewhere, plotting to get them out. 

Still, he's worried about Hal.  Hal's a good man, and Clark doesn't exactly approve of the proprietary way that sleazy-looking client had touched Hal.  That, and he knows Hal's been helping with the kryptonite.  Clark is, at this point, a veritable connoisseur of kryptonite poisoning, and he knows that while it's still awful and killing him slowly right now, it should be worse and happening faster.  So he's also aware that Hal is doing something to keep him alive.  Clark is grateful, but feels like Hal should probably be worrying more about himself.  He doesn't want Hal to end up sleeping with anyone just to try to save the day--it's a sacrifice he shouldn't have to make and, if Clark were still able to move in a productive way, one Clark wouldn't let him make.

That is, unfortunately, not the case.  Clark is pretty trapped in a strange room with a slave collar pumping kryptonite to him, waiting helplessly for someone to hopefully show up in the nick of time to prevent Hal from having to do anything terrible.  But he's good at hope.  And he believes in Bruce.  (Okay, maybe not Bruce's ability to use his words and talk about his feelings, but there _are_ limits.)  So he takes even, measured breaths, remembering Bruce's voice calmly guiding him through the meditative process, and focuses, and waits.


	3. Perspective

# Perspective

 

"Any word yet?" Flash blurts the inquiry between three hamburgers and a soda, slowing just enough to appear by the broad set of monitors in the Watchtower.

"No."

An explosive sigh and Barry vanishes from J'onn's left to reappear at his right with another plate of food eaten too quickly to identify.

"John heard anything?”

"No," the Martian repeats, tapping a button to change the views.

"Kyle?"

"No."

"... _Guy_?"

"No."

"... 's a little weird, isn't it?" the speedster continues, darting the small pile of cookware and plates down to the appropriate sink 10 levels below and passing J'onn a plate of Oreos in the next second.

J'onn picks up a cookie. Barry eats six and produces a glass of milk. "Thank you, Flash," he calmly begins, choosing to take a bite before addressing his companion's concerns. "They have missed a check-in," he thoughtfully adds between bites. "However, I believe you are used to that?"

"Sure, with _Hal_ ,” It doesn't make him worry any less, though. Every time Hal's come back months later than anticipated it’s always with a hell of a (usually awful) story and needing somewhere to sleep off lingering injuries he really should have had looked at before flying across the universe. "Batman and Supes, though? That's different. I don't know. It's not like them."

J'onn turns to look at Barry, gaze level and blinking for little more than a few seconds, but it's enough to unnerve the speedster into backing off with raised hands.

"I know, I know, I just-"

"Three days."

Barry sighs. "You know I hate that rule."

"You agreed to it," J'onn reminds him with an arched brow.

"Doesn't mean I can't hate it." Barry deflates with the words, looking mournfully over at the monitors. "Can I at least catch a few hours here? Come on, J'onn, Gotham could _use_ a bat-sighting."

J'onn's stare continues.

" _Please_? I'm running on fumes here! Gotham's exhausting and full of smaller, more irritable bats."

"... I have two hours left before Wonder Woman's shift," the Martian finally allows.

"Oh thank goodness.”

  

* * *

 

In the past, this was the part when Hal could finally take a moment to reorient himself to the current situation and give his nerves a break. Sometimes, he could even troll Sinestro into paying more than he anticipated – it had always been fun to taunt him about later. Other times ‘negotiation’ was the point when Hal could slip whatever the slavers had slapped on him to make him stay put and have a rather cathartic round of beating the shit out of them before backup arrived.

This time he’s too worried to settle, and it’s pretty clear the collar is staying on regardless. T’lera has apparently had far too many years to perfect their trade, considering the layers of protocol K’lara walks them through the moment they leave the small cell – Hal throwing one last hopefully reassuring glance over his shoulder before he’s tugged out by a thin length of chain. Because it’s Sinestro, he knows it’s more for show than anything, and because it’s Sinestro, he jerks back with a quip.

Unfortunately, it mostly just nets him additional shackles to his wrists, but the slight quirk of Thaal’s lips is worth it.

Then it’s down a hall that’s less than pleasant to keep pace on while barefoot and into a much nicer room replete with low divans and soft carpet. On the table between them, there is a small pile of electric pads, which one of K’lara’s entourage darts over to collect and pass on to her, followed by a significantly long pause during which Hal finds himself stared at expectantly until he realizes they actually thought he would do the same. A pair of obscene gestures and another not-really-a-shock administered via his collar later and Sinestro growls disbelievingly over the chance of lingering damage to cover swiping a tablet up for himself.

Which leaves Hal standing uncomfortably just to Sinestro’s left for longer than he can really appreciate, half of his attention on a slim construct a mile back down guarded halls, and the other half privy to a master class in deception and manipulation. The latter of which he’s certain he’d enjoy more if for no other reason than being able to watch Sin do it to someone else for a change – and if it didn’t include getting poked and prodded and forcibly pulled into demonstrations of health and beauty he could have honestly done without. He _knows_ he’s attractive, but he prefers being able to show it off himself.

… No matter bedroom preferences that make it more than a little difficult to maintain his attention elsewhere when the same firm touches and murmured compliments would have otherwise left him flushed and eager to please.

Attention sufficiently split for the long time it takes to land on a price and somehow exchange payment, Hal is more than a little surprised when K’lara’s endless platitudes and Sinestro’s easy derision ends with him being dragged not towards the docking bay, but shortly down the hall and into another opulent room. This one with a sitting area like the one they’d left as well as some sort of desk and – most prominently – a large bed against the far wall. Hal doesn’t need to fake his instinctive backwards lurch against the leash still firmly in Sin’s hand, head whipping around to quickly take in their surroundings.

“What the hell are we doing _here_?”

Sinestro gives a slight tug on the leash, just because he can.  "The rest of the payment for you is still processing.  I wouldn't pay for this without circulating through my accounts."  The statement is made in Sector Standard, worded just vaguely enough that no one listening would suspect he's communicating important information rather than just parading his wealth and power.  "While we wait, however..."

Hal’s eyes narrow and he straightens where he stands in obvious challenge to the casual reminder of status. “What are we waiting for?” he bites out in English, like a threat, then pauses and snaps out “NO,” in Standard, as if it takes him a minute to think of.

Sinestro smiles indulgently, largely because watching Hal do good deception work is one of his favorite parts of these types of rescues.  "Your rodent friend in black," Sinestro keeps his tone challenging as well and switches to Korugarian, fairly certain no one on this ship would know that language.  Not quickly enough for it to matter, anyway.

“My-” Hal starts, instinctively switching to Korugarian as well and only after remembering to play it off as if he’s just surprised by the language change. His stance shifts to something less overtly challenging and more suspicious once he figures out what Sin’s talking about – or who. “So we’re buying time, then?” he lowly returns. “How long?”

"He gave me no information," Sinestro murmurs, letting his tone color into smugness as he runs a hand down along Hal's exposed throat.

“Sounds like him.” Hal mutters and cants his head back, miming an unwanted touch and yet still very aware of his current situation. It’s not as difficult as it should be when the situation has too much of an appeal to entirely ignore – even when he’s trying to keep his attention elsewhere. Part of his struggle bleeds into his expression – it’s not worth hiding since some sort of conflict there is warranted. “We have a time limit,” he says, voice low and gaze momentarily to the side before he meets Sinestro’s again. “From what I heard on the way in… I don’t doubt there’s some of them we can distract,” the curt follow-up. 

Sinestro keeps his touches light and exploring for now, leisurely to the untrained eye.  It's been... well, a while since the last time Hal occupied his bed.  "Your rodent friend did indeed request a distraction," he replies, managing to make that statement sound proprietary.

Somehow, Hal doubts this is what Bruce had in mind, but he tries not to linger on it, tensing under Sinestro’s touch. “I’m maintaining a barrier on Superman,” he haltingly answers, expression wary and making the words just a little louder than before. Cautiously hopeful in tone. “We’ve got… maybe four more hours.”

Sinestro's smirk spreads, as he realizes what Hal is trying to do.  Part of it is for the act; part of it is sheer pleasure at watching the way Hal takes to this game so easily.  "Your rodent friend had better hurry, then."

Hal inclines his head in silent agreement, knowing Sinestro would follow the ruse – dropping Clark’s moniker in the middle of foreign words to make whoever was keeping watch think a bargain had been struck. He slowly untenses and rolls his shoulders back, turning his head slightly away from meeting Sinestro’s gaze. “… What’s the plan when he gets back, then?” The words are softer than before, and after another moment’s hesitation he carefully slips to his knees.

Sinestro really should have been expecting that.  It still surprises him, despite all the other times they've been in similar situations, but he chalks it up to how long it's been since that's happened. 

"He didn't say."  The words are crisp and emphasized, sounding far more like an order to the untrained ear, before turning into a growl.  "We go back to his ship and leave."

Hal doesn’t have a suitable answer this time, and he supposes it’s just as well. He’s felt his attention slip enough just during their conversation. He pauses for another moment, using his need to focus to appear hesitant before leaning forward slightly, raising his hands, still shackled together to tug at the sash keeping Sinestro’s robes in place. “Like seeing me on my knees that much?” he cheekily comments of the obvious erection stiffening under the strip of cloth he could generously call a thong.

"It wouldn't do for such an eager customer to have no reaction to his newest, prettiest slave," Sinestro growls in reply.  He generally has quite good control, but the combination of strategy and a largely nude Hal Jordan on a leash have changed that for the moment.  "But yes," he allows after a moment.  "I do."

“Good to know I’m not losing my touch.” Hal trails his hands up the inside of Sinestro’s thigh, hooking his fingers into the tie keeping the thong in place and tugging it down, flicking his gaze up to watch Sin’s reaction. “Are you going to tell me what you want, then?” he taunts, voice low and lips brushing against the hardening length before him.

There's a flicker of heat in Sinestro's eyes.  "Are we doing this now, Jordan?" he asks.  The ever-lingering mentor in him is questioning the wisdom of Hal's decisions, but part of him just wants confirmation that this is, in fact, what Hal is planning to do.

“You didn’t listen to the guards for six hours,” Hal murmurs, dropping his gaze as if trying to avoid Sinestro’s. “If he wants a distraction, we should start while they’re still likely to eavesdrop.” He clenches his hands against Sin’s thigh and pushes away slightly. “Weren’t you just saying something about being eager?”

In response, Sinestro simply drops a hand to Hal's cheekbone and brushes feather-light along its edge.  "I suppose I _am_ your rescuer," he rasps, grinning lasciviously.  "Is this how you'd like to show your gratitude?"

Hal can feel the heat in his cheeks and doesn’t bother trying to hide it. “Don’t I always?” He turns into the faint touch, eyes lidded as he leans forward to brush his lips along the length of Sinestro’s cock until he’s mouthing the base of it. “And I’ve got twice as much to … thank … you for this time.” His lips never leave the sensitive skin he’s pressed them against, letting the soft rumble of his words stimulate as much as their meaning.

Where Sinestro might normally reach forward and help Hal along, now he simply smirks and relaxes into a pose of self-indulgence.  "Do you?"  It's probably the best distraction they can offer, and besides Hal seems pretty eager (Sinestro didn't miss the flush).  "Well, I suppose you'll have to show me."

“Making me do all the work,” Hal mutters, letting his hands flatten against Sin’s thigh again to give him some leverage to move, twisting slightly so he can arch his back and lean up, sucking at the tender flesh where the base of Sinestro’s erection meets the sack beneath. “You should at least,” he continues, shivering in arousal even as hot breath skims normally cool Korugarian flesh, “let your newest acquisition know when he’s performing as desired.”

Sinestro can't suppress the faint rumble of arousal there, and it's more from watching Hal work himself up than anything else.  "Very good," he praises in Sector Standard.  "Such a talented mouth."  He threads his fingers lazily into Hal's hair but doesn't do anything further.

Hal lets his gaze narrow at the patronizing praise, doing everything he can to remind himself that he’s not actually supposed to like it. That he needs to keep his focus elsewhere too. It’s difficult, to put it lightly. Sinestro’s fingers are curling into his hair – easy and unconcerned – and he’s always been so weak to that. To the reminder that he’s simply there for Sinestro’s pleasure. He leans up again to lap along the stiffening length, fingers instinctively curling into the skin of Sin’s thigh – he can’t stop it at first and doesn’t try to after: knows the image he makes is one of restrained struggle. Even if the reason isn’t what anyone would expect, it will match his captor’s expectations just as well as he knows it will rouse Sin’s lust.

"Mmm," Sinestro rumbles encouragingly.  "Just like that."  He spreads his legs a little more, using one hand to tug free the ties to let his robe fall entirely open.  His other hand combs through the tangles of Hal's hair, still entirely gentle.

It’s definitely a change of pace for Hal; usually Sinestro’s grip is firm, his direction demanding and the entire act made of overt aggression. At least, that’s how it typically goes when Sin manages to convince him on to his knees. It’s rough, and hard, and just as often leaves him bruised and unfulfilled and overheated and - _good_.

So _good_.

This though, this is much more insidious. It’s not care that keeps Sinestro’s touch gentle and leaves Hal in control of how to continue: it’s the imperious entitlement of someone who knows they are going to get what they want. There is no _challenge_. Nothing for Hal to _fight_ because the battle has already been won.

Honestly, it’s a little too perfect for their situation: sparking a different kind of restless heat inside that makes Hal fight back a moan by pressing his lips to Sinestro’s flesh again: all the way down to the base to suck again at the tender flesh there and then slowly drag his tongue up to the tip again. Hal’s fingers press harder against Sinestro’s thigh: the tension of unexpected and heated lust.

Sinestro's muscles tense under the touch as Hal finishes the perfect thing he's doing with his tongue.  "Very good, boy," he says, louder and in Sector Standard, as if it's intended as a gloat for Hal's ears.  "You like that?"

It’s difficult not to shudder visibly, but the stubbornness that so often defines Hal spikes at the same time and he pushes briefly away, glaring up openly. He instinctively wants to challenge the words – good for the show, perhaps, but obviously a lie to someone who knows him as well as Sin does. Someone who can see the flush and tension in his muscles and intensity of his gaze and know this is not someone ready to attack. This is not what _he_ looks like when readying a fight.

But it’s what most people would expect to see, even if his struggle isn’t to keep going in spite of pride and preference. So he growls another, “No,” in Standard, even if wants something closer to ‘of course not’ and adds, in Korugarian, “no more than you.”

It's so _easy_ for Sinestro to keep up the smirk that's taken up somewhat permanent residence on his lips.  Hal makes it easy by playing the game so well, and by projecting his need for this so very clearly.  Sinestro pauses for a moment to think back through the scenario and make _certain_ that no one else but him can tell apart Hal's lies, but he's fairly confident the average being working in the slave trade would just assume Hal's physiology is betraying him. 

He lets the silence fall between them as he projects his enjoyment for a while, before he finally speaks once more.  "If you're good, I'll give you a _reward_."

Hal’s expression turns suspicious again, but he slowly returns to his task: lapping once at the head and drawing his lips down the stiff length once more. Part of him wants to prolong it for more reasons than just the need to keep up the distraction, but he knows what the image of reluctant submission entails probably a little too well. So he straightens slightly, placing his lips to the head of Sinestro’s cock and flicks his gaze up to watch the expression of his supposed master as he carefully swallows every inch of the thick length down to the root and settles there.

Sinestro's expression doesn't change – smug as fuck and ever so pleased with Hal's enthusiasm.  After a long moment of Hal kneeling at his feet, swallowing around his cock, Sinestro can't help but moan lowly.  His hips give a shallow thrust.  With practiced ease, he uses one foot to press between Hal's legs before quickly returning to his original position, the movement barely visible to anyone watching.

A choked off noise vibrates from the back of Hal’s throat down the hard length in his mouth, and he jerks back more to cover the needful rock of his hips than because he can’t handle it any longer. Still, he knows how he looks – flushed and panting for quick breathes on his knees – and plays to it with a shift in his stance that sets his knees just a bit wider, letting him balance easier for the shift of his hands that follows. It’s not much – just enough to wrap his hands around the thick erection before him, pumping lightly until his breathing steadies.

He leans forward again, back arching slightly for balance as he slides his lips back down, hands slowly flattening against Sinestro’s hips. The new position drags the cool metal chain between his shackles ever so lightly against the bottom of Sin’s erection. Hal slides his hands up just a bit higher as if seeking a better balance while swallowing around the girth forcing his jaw wide, letting the dichotomy of the heat of his mouth and the momentary coolness of the chain work its magic.

Then he pulls back, eyes lidding as he focuses on keeping a slow, steady pace.

Sometimes Sinestro regrets how _good_ Hal is at this.  Any other day, he'd have plans in place for him to operate at lowered efficiency while Jordan is present, but this--this is not something he'd thought he'd ever have to plan for again, and he needs his wits about him for anything the slavers might try and whatever Batman is planning. 

Still, this is _Hal_.  Sinestro can't help but pull the chain taut and reply sinuously, "No, no.  Let me hear you."

A whine escapes before Hal even thinks about it, and he leans up to alleviate some of the pull long enough to draw a deeper breath through his nose before descending again. The tension, however, doesn’t go away, and he can’t help but think of what he must look like now to the audience they’re actually trying to keep. A Green Lantern – one of the universe’s most notoriously difficult wills to break – sucking off an unknown warlord in a hidden corner of a slaver’s den, flushed, and incapable of withholding the soft, broken noises muffled by the thick length in his mouth.

Well, he always did put on a good show.

Sinestro could hold on far longer, but in this case he neither wants to nor thinks it would be useful.  The seedy but domineering Ungaran warlord, after all, would simply take his pleasure at will.  "Mm, yes," Sinestro groans, tugging gently and discreetly on Hal's hair in warning. " _Perfect_."

Hal flicks his gaze up again, just once quickly in appreciation, and then gradually quickens his pace in acknowledgement of the small tell. As hot under the collar as he’s getting, it would be very different if it wasn’t Sinestro in the room with him, and even if that wasn’t the case, it’s very easy for him to get carried away with these sort of things. Knowing Sin is keeping track of him lessens some of the burden of playing into the part.

He keeps the pace change slightly uneven, slowing down once or twice to imitate attempting to follow the uneven cadence of someone already close to the edge. The sensation of the muscles under his hands flexing give him enough time to pull back just enough before Sinestro’s hips rock forward one last time, plunging semen down his throat in long, hot spurts he messily swallows around, letting it dribble out until Sinestro’s hold eventually loosens enough for him to pull away. He drops forward with an exaggerated cough, hands slipping down to the floor to support the rough gasps of someone less familiar with the climaxes of different races than his own.

Sinestro lets his smirk soften slightly, assuming their audience will think it's the wave of his orgasm that distracts him, rather than what it is.  After a pause, he kneels with one leg to the floor, making no move to cover himself, and tugs Hal's face up to look at him.  After a caress to the line of Hal's cheek, Sinestro leans forward and kisses the man, hot and hard and absolutely demanding.  Still, underneath the surface, there's a gentleness that's a little more pronounced in the strokes of his tongue, and the hand that cups Hal's ass.

Hal stiffens immediately against the kiss – not from surprise or distaste, but from needing to keep himself from reacting too positively. Sinestro is an _excellent_ kisser – something Hal has always found more than a little amusing for someone whose culture apparently skipped that pleasantry altogether – and it’s utterly distracting to respond to on a good day. Right now, he fights back every nerve in his body that wants to sink into the gentle hold and forget for a while. Sinestro has always been a consummate lover… yet honest and open gentleness is infrequent and difficult between them even now.

But Hal is a Green Lantern for a reason and eventually jerks himself away to catch his breath and give himself some much needed distance before he can properly respond. This time, when Sinestro yanks him back, he haltingly returns the kiss. It’s far from the response he would usually give, but it’s probably just as good for him to keep it at that to convince anyone else that he legitimately doesn’t want it or know how to respond.

Sinestro knows exactly why Hal responds the way he does, and approves, really, as the man's mentor and also as a part of the act.  Still, there's a certain amount of disappointment that wells up, because he's so used to Hal's enthusiasm in such matters.  He shunts that thought aside and focuses instead on running his hands up along the soft bare skin of Hal's back. 

Eventually, he lets Hal go.  "Now for your reward," he says loudly in Sector Standard, lifting Hal to his feet and shoving him roughly against the closest wall.  Then he leans in to whisper in Hal's ear in Korugarian, "Would you like me to use my hand?"

A sharp shiver rakes down Hal’s spine – from the jarring dichotomy of the harsh shove and the gentle words; from the cool touch of the wall to the heat of his back; and from the quiet show of concern that reminds him of the cameras they are actively trying to keep trained on them. His skin heats with the reminder and he leans his head back against the wall, trying to settle his nerves with a slower breath even as his body reacts eagerly to Sin’s closeness, hips rolling up towards the hand just out of reach.

Hal manages to turn the motion into a halfhearted push and an attempt to shift himself away. He can handle this. Really. But if Sinestro keeps being so damn _considerate_ he’s not sure how effective it’s going to be, or how useful he’ll be when it comes time to make their exit. Another shift of his hips actually puts some distance between them, and he presses his hands to Sinestro’s chest as if trying to hold them apart as a flare of irritation riles the selfsame stubbornness that has kept an active construct going throughout all of this.

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” he pants out, mostly sure it ends up in Standard for those three words and then turns to glare at Sinestro directly, slipping into Korugarian again. “I give you a goddamn _fabulous_ blowjob and all you’re offering me is _your hand_? What the hell kind of reciprocation is that? At least have the decency to stake a claim when you _actually_ have an audience,” he jeers, the triumphant quirk of his lips entirely for Sinestro. Anyone else would see an insult in the expression alone. But he knows Thaal will see the challenge for what it is and the small sliver of levity for the permission he desires.

"I know you want it," Sinestro leers arrogantly in Sector Standard, feeling like he's on the wrong side of sleazy.  He leans in again to whisper against the shell of Hal's ear, switching now to Korugarian as he lets his hand wander over the muscles of Hal's abdomen.  "It is a risk here.  I can adjust."  It's two parts concern, one-part tease.

“No, I-” Hal cuts himself off with a shake of his head, honestly not needing to fake not being able to find the words in Sector Standard, and doubling back to Korugarian again, dropping his voice. “I know.” He twists in Sin’s hold, the squirm partially warranted by his own lust drenched form. “Can’t focus as well… when I’m... doing all the work,” he hisses, trying to remind Sin of the construct he’s using to keep his ring hidden and then one on Clark to keep the man _alive_ that shouldn’t be nearly as distracting if he wasn’t so low on power, and they weren’t fighting through such an intense field of energy dampening and he didn’t have to actively regulate how much power he was using for both as often as he could. He doesn’t _like_ admitting he can’t do all of it on his own, but he’s not about to let Clark die for the sake of his pride.

"How flattering," Sinestro smirks back, in crisp Sector Standard.  He takes a moment to subtly check his own also-cloaked ring, noting that the drain has affected his power supply sufficiently, although it appears to be absorbing a bare few tendrils from Hal.  Covering the observation as an evaluation of the nearby shelf of helpful items, Sinestro reaches out to snatch a jar of lubricant and opens it.  He coats his fingers and reaches back to start his preparation.

Hal can feel the heat bloom over his cheeks again, and even though he swivels his hips like he’s trying to get away, it’s not what they’re doing or the fact that other people are watching them do it that puts it there. Rather, the thought that he has to rely on Sinestro _again_ for something to do with his ring that he _should_ have been capable of- “Stop letting me think about this,” he tries to growl and it comes out half in a whine. “It’s _really_ not helping.”

He just needs to keep _going_. The less detail, the better.

Sinestro doesn't change his movements, preparing at a slower speed than they go in at least half of their trysts.  "I'm going slowly for you," he intones, making sure any observational devices will pick it up, "because I want you to _enjoy_ this.  You will be the new crown jewel of my harem."  He takes more lubricant, movements almost exaggerated, and slides in two fingers.  Then he nips the edge of Hal's ear.  "Do you trust me," he whispers there, in Korugarian again.

Hal doesn’t fight the instinctive roll of his hips back against the press of Sinestro’s fingers, and only barely manages to strangle the breathy moan that tries to escape. The soft query makes him shiver and he turns his head away – an acquiesce to Sinestro and a desperate separation for their audience. He swallows, and then simply says, “Yes.”

"Then you have nothing to fear."  It's Sector Standard again, but it's true in whatever language he chooses, and he knows Hal will understand.  Sinestro adds the third finger, working Hal slowly open as he makes his way along Hal's jawline and down to his neck in nips of teeth and self-indulgent kisses.  "The control is mine," he growls into Hal's collarbone.  It's a strange phrase when translated out of Sector Standard, but Sinestro is taking advantage of the vagueness of the language when used in passive. It could imply a great many things, depending on context, including that Sinestro controls fear, Hal, or both.  There are nuances, too, in the term he chooses for "control" – ones easily brushed aside as a brash warlord forgetting connotations while making grandiose claims, but in reality the term implies a sense of safety on the part of the unnamed sentence object.

It takes most of Hal’s incredible willpower not to just melt into Sinestro’s hold and forget the rest of the universe exists.

Ultimately, though, those selfsame words are what let him actually turn his focus elsewhere. He relaxes slowly, with quiet, bitten back whimpers and half captured moans. Sinestro’s touch is always exacting and pointed and carefully thought out and when those long fingers are touching him deep _inside_ it’s nearly impossible to convince his body of anything other than heat and enjoyment. The fact that Sin knows exactly how to twist those fingers – remembers _precisely_ where to brush and when to prod to both rile him up and ease him open only makes it that much more difficult to fight.

So he doesn’t.

His fingers flex against Korugarian flesh, and his head falls back against the wall behind him, gaze lidded and distant as he gives his body over to pleasure so his mind can finally – _finally_ – stop worrying about it and focus where he needs to. It must be quite a sight, he thinks, watching someone so expertly pick him apart. To witness some intergalactic unknown seemingly reduce one of the most notoriously willful people in the universe to a panting, desperately aroused _mess_. Just thinking about it is enough to send a rush of heat and hormones south until he’s obviously, painfully hard and dripping precum.

And it’s fine. Hal doesn’t let him concern him, because Sinestro has this part handled, and he can let go.

Sinestro groans a little at the sight of Hal, spread open and willing for him.  Hal is hard and wanting and his for the taking, and Sinestro has never quite been able to resist the sight of Hal like that. 

"Look at you."  He had meant it to come out in a suggestive sneer, but he can't quite keep the naked appreciation out of his voice.  Still, he's certain at this point no one is paying attention to anything but the positively pornographic scene the two of them make.  "Not so willful after all, Lantern, when I know Exactly. Where. To. Push."  He thrusts his fingers in time with the last four words, and decides it's probably fine at this point to let his body show its arousal again.  It's not like he has much choice, regardless, because Hal cries out at each thrust of fingers, and Sinestro, in this, is still mortal.

“Please – ah!” Hal is too far gone to worry over how he sounds or what he’s saying or even what language it manages to come out in. He’s already hiked a leg up along the outside of Sin’s thigh by the time the words spill past his lips: shaky and needful and pleading, and when those fingers strike him just right he just hooks his leg in place to push against the touch.

Despite the situation, despite everything, Sinestro smirks in triumph. In this moment Hal Jordan is his again. 

Taking Hal's desperate movements as a cue, Sinestro withdraws, knowing by touch that Hal is ready, and bodily lifts Hal up by the ass so that he's pressed against the wall without touching the ground.  Almost instinctively, Hal wraps his legs around Sinestro's waist.  "Good," Sinestro rasps out in approval, sliding his cock into the cleft of Hal's ass and simply thrusting like that for a moment.

Hal immediately rolls his hips down. It’s a thoughtless, instinctual reaction to the pleasant stimuli Sinestro provides and he’s already too far gone to really care for how it looks. For him, it’s the sensation and the tease in the slick glide that brushes right against everything he wants and refuses to give it to him. He flexes his legs: powerful thighs urging Sin onward when his words become simple, repetitive, and without any sense of one particular language over another. The only thought he spares for the epicurean sensations of this one moment is _yes_. Yes to encouraging whatever Sinestro wants from him. Yes to the temptation of more. Yes to continuing as long as they have to in order to leave in one piece.

On the one hand, Sinestro is tempted by the slick heat of Hal Jordan, and the human's wanton cries and shameless desire.  On the other, he's waiting for Batman to rendezvous with him, or make contact, or give some sort of communication of when they can get off this damned planet.  So he holds himself back, stops himself from completely losing himself in Hal. 

Instead, he studies the man.  Sinestro looks over the long lean lines, the supple skin and rippling muscles, and enjoys the decadent feast before him.  The effect will be good for their observers, and Sinestro knows it, so he allows himself to indulge for as long as they can.


	4. Indulgences

# Indulgences

 

Batman is ahead of schedule when he slips into the apartment-like second complex. The moment he accesses their inventory system ( _inventory_ the translator repeats when he checks it again, squashing a tendril of rage from overcoming rational thought) that schedule is lost. They might have put most of their technological prowess into those shields, but they have definitely spent some time on security processes as well. This isn't just a matter of finding a way with what he's already learned from their shield generators – it’s a completely different system all together. The interface doesn't even look remotely similar!

No, he'll lose too much time if he stops to try and sort that one out too. Time for some old fashioned espionage.

Bruce is back on schedule when he slips into the hallway from a small holding cell, clad in the strange, somewhat metallic uniform pulled from a guard now chained to the wall. He thinks he should feel naked without the suit, but the disguise is something easily affected, if a bit tight. At least the guard system seems fairly autonomous. There really aren't that many compared to the amount of beings they keep watch over. Most seem stationed to stillness sporadically along the wall.

He sees the pattern and slips into it as needed to avoid questioning as minders pass in the halls.

Twenty minutes later he's behind schedule and still incapable of finding the holding cell. There's too many, really, to explore the whole place on foot, so he changes tactics: searching out Sinestro instead. It should be easy to find the man (neither he nor Hal are particularly subtle) but apparently there is quite a bit to do on a day to day basis in the high end sentient trafficking industry which makes it difficult to access systems and talk up other workers. Everyone has a task and it takes longer than he would like to sort out who is doing what in order to find someone knowledgeable enough to eke out the information he needs.

When he does, he finds a door with two additional guards closed for another ten minutes before he decides the distraction will hold long enough for him to resume his search. At least it's easier to backtrack where Hal came from than to search blindly for a Kryptonian apparently very little of the staff has actually seen or heard about.

Bruce revises the schedule when he slips into the holding cell where Clark has leaned himself against a wall, glassy eyed and attempting to steady shaking breath. Another tendril of rage twines around his heart, and this time he lets it simmer as he sets down the small dish of food that had been his excuse to enter in the first place. He carefully angles his back to the surveillance devices so he can tap a short, distinctive pattern against Clark's throat under the pretense of checking his pulse and then turns to leave.

He's outside the door of the waiting room an Ungaran warlord has taken for his newest purchase before anyone tries to stop him from doing anything. Another guard tries to direct him to a security post just down the hall so he can watch the show without interrupting it. For the first time since he arrives the rage within almost boils over, but disgust and determination clamp it down. His grip tightens on the tablet that gives him the excuse he needs and the guard waves him in regretfully when presented with it, glancing askance through the doorway before Bruce subtly kicks it shut behind him.

"T'lera extends its regrets," he intones, extensive training keeping his voice even as he strides over to where some careful applications of makeup and cloth transform Thaal Sinestro in 'Lord Aton' and the utter lack of anything but a deep flush puts Hal on display for every one of the cameras in the room. "Difficulties arose in the process of receiving your payment." Bruce turns crisply at the end of his walk to extend the tablet towards Sinestro, careful to block the primary view of the space between them.

Sinestro glances down at the pad, frowning.  He had made very certain the transactions would take as long as necessary, so how -- once he sees the text on the screen, realization dawns.  The short guard is actually Batman, and this is apparently his mode of communication. There's a very brief message that indicates the Kryptonian has been found, and demanding that Sinestro make an exit with Hal as soon as possible.

Sinestro glances back up at Hal, who makes a soft pleading whine, reminding Sinestro that Hal's precarious position against the wall is held up at least 50% by Sinestro's cock (almost literally) nailing him to it. 

"Give me this," he snaps impatiently, taking the pad.  Careful to hide the screen from cameras, he starts typing a reply message that he needs a few moments and will meet Batman back at the ship.  Sinestro isn't even halfway through when Hal makes a louder, needier noise and shifts his hips as much as he can, and who is Sinestro to leave Hal wanting?  Without pausing at the pad, Sinestro starts up a slow, steady pace again.

The noise Hal makes then is so utterly _obscene_ that it very nearly causes Bruce to – he allows himself only a brief glance, gaze locked to Hal’s expression: assessing all over again. He tries reminding himself that Hal _knows what he’s doing_. He’s been in the League long enough. They’ve worked together enough. He’s _heard_ enough about Hal’s other work. About Sinestro and how they are together. Reminds himself of the statement Sinestro himself made about having dragged Hal from these situations before.

Bruce tears his gaze away and refocuses on Sinestro just as Hal shifts – turning his head to the side with an exaggerated moan and rolling his hips up with another needy, desperate sound. He’ll deal with it later. Has to deal with it later. For now, he keeps his attention pointedly away, trying to afford Hal what little privacy he can in the situation, and holds the mask of his disguise firmly in place.

“Our apologies for the interruption,” he reiterates, glancing over the pad when the angle permits, “but if you require, we can refuel you for your trip home. Does that suit you?”

"That will be fine," Sinestro replies with a dismissive wave, driving just a little harder into Hal and relishing how much the man enjoys this.  Sinestro has been aware of Hal's penchant for exhibitionism for years, after all.  "You may go now."  It's almost an afterthought for how careless his tone is, and he slides his now free hand down to hover just between Hal's thighs, waiting for Batman to depart before he does anything further.

Hal’s legs cinch tighter, thighs trembling as he arches his back and rocks down, using a hand against the wall for stability and leverage. Bruce plucks the tablet back from Sinestro’s hand just shy of roughly and quickly scans the texts as he turns, deleting it and switching to the financial information screen instead. Behind him Hal cries out sharply, falling to a croon soon after and the muffled thumps of someone being fucked into a wall follow him out of the room.

The guard outside offers a smirk and a raise of his eyebrows. Bruce swallows down his rage to smirk back with a nod and gives a vague salute with his tablet before turning away. A choked back _“God – Fuck!”_ echoes unknown down the hall as the door falls shut again.

The instant the door closes, Sinestro's hand falls around Hal's slick length and gives a tentative pump.  "Mine," he growls in Standard, though the tone is clear enough that he's pretty certain most people would understand even if it had been in Korugarian or even an arbitrary language from Hal's planet.

“ _Fuck_ Sin, I-” Hal cuts off with another hot moan, lurching up when Sin hits him just right, then rocking back down and shuddering in Sin’s firm grasp. Another, deep gasp and his fingers press back into the wall, scrambling for purchase. “ _Yes_.” The word comes out tremulous and pleading and mangled between enough languages that he has to repeat it again, just to make sure it gets out completely in one.

Sinestro's smirk widens at the confirmation.  He runs a thumb along the slick length proprietarily before starting to move his hand in an offset to the now pounding rhythm of his thrusts.  It is, alas, still in part an act, and Sinestro has a momentary regret about not being able to growl Hal's name right now.  He leans in closer to bite at the lobe of Hal's ear and slips in a whisper instead.

Hal’s answer is hot and low and mostly incomprehensible: wordless sound attempting to pass for a name, a confirmation, anything at all. His skin feels aflame from lust and excitement and just a hint of shame – from the part of him that can recognize how distracted he’s become when his mind should be elsewhere. Nothing more. He can’t bring himself to care about their silent audience – not in a way that would make him stop – but having someone actually in the room with them?

He knew Sin could see how it affected him. The heat of arousal all but overcame him and Sinestro only took advantage. The pace, the angle, the hand on his erection – and now here, with the bite of his ear and quiet whisper of his name. Everything he craved in exactly the way that drove him crazy. Only Sinestro did that to him. Only him so perfectly.

“How- ah! Ha- how much nn- longer-?!” The effort to get the words into Korugarian is almost beyond Hal’s abilities, but one desperate, stubborn part of him remains to remember why they’re here at all. He hopes they’re almost done. Desperately. Needs this to be over soon. Not much longer and he won’t make for much of a distraction.

"We're leaving," Sinestro growls out, unexpectedly irritated (albeit grudgingly impressed) that Hal is able to concentrate on anything but pleasure, but still careful enough to switch into Korugarian as well.  "The guard earlier was your rodent friend."  In an attempt to pull Hal's focus back to himself, and because he can see the need building to a head in Hal's body, Sinestro drives harder into the wet heat, making it a challenge to brush Hal's prostate as often as possible. 

Hal isn't the only one who wants to finish.  Despite Sinestro's ability to focus on the task at hand rather than the needs of his body, he still _wants_ Hal.  This has been alternately good and bad, generally depending on the situation, but in this particular one Sinestro wants to drag a shuddering, screaming intense climax out of Hal, and wants to experience the heights of that pleasure with him. 

"You seem close," Sinestro says hoarsely, not bothering to switch out of Korugarian anymore.  There's very little point if they're leaving right after this, and besides, he's fairly confident they sold this act a few dozen of Hal's moans ago.

A short huff of breath escapes between them – Hal barely managing to withhold the bit of amusement that comes with it. “Under… statement- ah!” His words, breathless and low break into a hiss of overwhelmed pleasure as Sinestro thrusts into him again – and again and again. Each time striking him just right. Each time slamming hard and deep until a riot of pleasure explodes somewhere behind his eyes and races through his veins.

He’s going to have bruises – on his thighs, right where Sinestro’s hips strike up against him, pinning him to the wall. Maybe the back of his head, too, at the rate they’re going. Hal can’t help throwing his head back and crying out his pleasure, breathless and soundless as he’s quickly becoming, throat raw, body hot, tense and wound too tight from the endless, pounding drive of pleasure straight up his spine.

Then Sinestro does something with his hand that plucks his hips up like a taut string, drives in again, and Hal is gone. Doesn’t know what he shrieks, or how loud he actually gets. Forgets, even, if he should be gasping for air, or clinging for purchase, or crying from exhaustion. There’s wetness on his lashes regardless, and some part of him knows it’s probably good for the show, but it’s a small part, and not the overwhelming rush of sensation that caused it in the first place.

Watching Hal come undone is much like watching a match burst into flame; there's a moment of intense heat and action before the world explodes with light and sound and color.  Sinestro finds him irresistibly beautiful like this, at his most open and vulnerable and somehow trusting Sinestro to keep it handled, but also drowning in the sensations of helpless and intense pleasure. 

Hal has reverted to cursing and pleading in his native tongue in the heat of his climax, much to Sinestro's approval.  This is what he wants from all such encounters with Hal: all of Hal's attention on lust and desire and Sinestro, rather than anything else.  Sinestro will take care of the rest, because he is the one best suited to taking care of Hal.  Sinestro wants to mark that into this man, mark it so that everyone else will know, so that Hal will remember. 

There's no good reason to resist the pull now, not since they need to finish up and leave, and Hal is making a good case for Sinestro to join him in ecstasy.  Sinestro's thrusts grow erratic as he loosens control, letting the sight of a nude and writhing Hal Jordan sharpen his pleasure.  Hal is pushing his hips back frantically even as he cries out from the stimulation to now over sensitized places, and the sight and sensation of that is what drags Sinestro over as well.

Hal is still trembling as he comes down, somewhere between instinctively needing to push away from the extra stimuli and urging Sinestro to completion regardless. It’s a strange form of relief when he feels the man finish inside him: a hot, wet warmth he hasn’t felt in too long filling him completely. He tips his head back again, needfully filling his lungs with air, blinking back the wetness in his eyes and simply giving himself time to come back down from such a shattering, spiraling high.

Sinestro pulls Hal forward half on instinct to kiss him, letting the preternatural warmth of Hal's body seep into his own.  Hal's mouth is always languid and pliant after sex, and Sinestro takes his time to enjoy it.  In between breaths, he checks his disguised ring and notices the minor but definite uptick in power.  Clearly Batman is keeping his end of the bargain.  "Jordan," Sinestro husks intimately into Hal's ear.  "Tell me when you're ready."

“… For what?” he answers, barely above a murmur, slowly steadying his breath once more.

Sinestro nips at his jaw fondly.  "To leave."

“ _How_?” Hal half groans, tilting his head to the side invitingly. “Big Guy… can’t move on his own by now.”

It's almost tempting to just continue, and Sinestro twitches inside Hal briefly with the thought.  But they need Batman's ship to leave, and Hal will certainly be upset _later_ if they don't help Superman.  Sinestro takes his time worrying a bruise into the spot on Hal's neck that Hal always likes.  In between he says, "Rodent friend.  Fear ring."

Hal sighs, but it’s a little more content than he’d like. “Right, well, ‘green friend no battery’,” he says, eyes lidding in spite of himself as he lends himself to the affectionate touch.

"You can rest in the ship," Sinestro says, amused, placing a lazy kiss over the bruise.

“I can _fly_ the damn ship,” Hal immediately corrects, just barely remembering to growl the words in case they need to continue their charade much longer. “… I can get us off planet if you can get everyone to the ship,” he mutters half under his breath, and allows his eyes to close completely for a moment. “He locked it down, didn’t he?” It’s rough Korugarian, but he’s sure the meaning is close enough.

Sinestro's mouth twists in amusement.  "Yes."  He goes back to mouthing at Hal's ear.  "For now, can you walk?"

Hal makes a face and for the moment doesn’t worry over how suitable it is for the cameras. “Well enough.” He shifts his legs slightly, as if testing the statement and only winces slightly. “Right. Got enough practice for this.” The words are muttered and end in a slight rasp that makes him clear his throat against the strain now there. “Let’s make for the ship, then. When the field drops… you _have to get them_.”

Sinestro frowns at the wince, but only nods.  He separates slowly and gently from Hal, taking care to cause the least discomfort, and then swings Hal around and into his arms.  "Shall we go?"  He smirks at Hal.

Something between a squeak and a shout escapes before Hal can really hold it in and he instinctively pushes against Sinestro’s chest. “What’re you-?” The shove is hardly strong and the end result is still little more than squirming in the firm hold. The flush sets his skin alight full force and the wince the movement draws makes him bury his face against Sin’s still markedly cooler chest instead of trying to push away again. “I don’t know how you expect to carry me out of here without questions,” he mutters in a last, vague protest.

"On the contrary," Sinestro replies with a decided smirk. "I'm fairly certain these _fine_ people are in agreement that I may transport you out of here however I like."

 Hal mutters something under his breath and shifts again, groaning softly from the wet slide and the strange, half arousal, half discomfort it brings. “I can – can walk if needed,” he tries once more, and focuses back on the threads of constructs built with his ring, subtly readjusting the flow away from keeping his ring hidden and tucking his hand between his skin and Sinestro’s instead. There was something to be said for the low tech approach, after all.

Smirk widening, Sinestro balances Hal into one hand for a moment to make a brief attempt to pull his loincloth back into place.  Not enough to really stop anyone from knowing what he's been up to, but at least now he can walk properly.  Then he's off, carrying a pleasingly flushed Hal Jordan calmly down the hall after a dismissive nod to the guard at the door.

Hal turns away from the gazes that follow them down the hallway, lingering on his curled up form. He can practically feel the smugness radiating from their smirks, enlivening the flush of his skin and thinking it from shame. Barely a few minutes pass before K’lara sweeps into the hall again and Hal instinctively buries his face deeper into the crook of Sin’s arm. It’s a less defensible position, mostly turning his back to her, but he trusts Sin more than his ability to keep the rising anger from his face. They’re close, he tells himself. Just a little longer and they’ll be able to take this entire operation apart - piece by piece.

“You have… quite the technique, Lord Aton,” K’lara greats in low, overtly pleased tones.

There's a certain amount of tension that Hal had managed to erase, which now comes rushing back at K'lara's words.  "Of course," he replies carelessly to her, even as he tightens his grip on Hal.  "I shall enjoy this one, I believe."

“Surely fate has smiled upon us both this day,” she murmurs through a widening smirk. “You will find our contact information once the rest of your payment arrives. Please, do visit us again should you require our services. It has been a pleasure to do business with you.”

"You are gracious."  Sinestro still remembers the Ungaran etiquette phrases well, luckily.  He nods at K'lara as well as he sweeps past, trying to pass his hold on Hal as merely proprietary.  Still, the soothing touch of Hal's hand, hidden between them, gives Sinestro something to focus on rather than his disgust for the entire operation.

“And you,” K’lara answers in kind, then turns for the dock, sweeping them along in her wake as her attendants flutter nearby to keep the trails of cloth following unhindered after. “Your ship has been prepped – as much as we could manage, of course. It’s a rather… curious design. You are clearly quite the collector.”

Hal tries not to shift too openly, but allows himself to tense up at when she draws anywhere close. That, at least, he doesn’t have to fake, as disgust, in this case, can just as well be fear. It’s ultimately Sinestro’s task to deal with her, however, so he focuses on his ring and the sole construct left to it instead, hoping Bruce’s timing at least allows for them to get to the ship before he drops the field.

"It's a ship I... acquired through conquest," Sinestro lies smoothly, then adds with intent, "I _do_ appreciate things that are of great use to me."  Still, he surreptitiously adjusts his hold on Hal to be more secure.

“Then may your purchase today prove to be-” She smiles slowly, dark lips curling back to show fangs once more, “‘of great use’.” They step into the large docking bay and K’lara extends her arm forward towards Batman’s ship just as the fueling station pulls away.

"The excellent service at T'lera will not be forgotten," Sinestro replies, choosing the Sector Standard colloquial to keep the illusion of the arrogant warlord who doesn't show gratitude directly.  Then he turns and does his own sweep away, all the more impressive when taking into account the fact that his garment is a short robe.  He takes measured steps into the ship, not wanting to give anything away.  Luckily, the door slides open and still lets him back in, and the moment it shuts again Sinestro drops the manufactured movement for swift action.  He hustles Hal to a nearby flat surface and lays him down with care, then tugging off the blue robe to make Hal a makeshift pillow.

The sudden fuss makes Hal flush all over again, and he hastily attempts to twist away – first from the bed and then from being settled on the pile of cloth. Both to no avail. He stares up balefully. “Alright, Sweetheart, you gonna let me get up or am I fighting you to the controls?” For all the difficulty of the last several hours, there is a welcome warmth in his words: open amusement he’s relieved to have after so long without.

"You need to rest."  Sinestro gives Hal a baleful look back.  "I will take care of the rest."

Hal just rolls his eyes and pushes himself up to his elbows, as unconcerned with his lingering nakedness as he is the lingering soreness. “Oh yeah? Go on. Start up the launch sequence,” he taunts, his weary mirth a gentle respite for himself as much as it’s meant to be for his companion. “I can rest when we’re done, Thaal.”

Sinestro's eyebrows rise up his forehead.  "I will be going back out there to wreck some slavers until I find your Batman.  There is time for you to rest briefly."

“That _really_ shouldn’t be so attractive,” Hal sighs. He looks back up at Sin for a long moment before pushing himself up into a sitting position through a barely suppressed wince. “At least let me get this thing ready to go before you run off to defend my virtue here,” the somewhat dry request that follows. “I’m not planning on being dead in the water while you’re off starting a war.”

"I have full faith in your ability to rest for a while before you learn how to fly this machine."  Sinestro gently but firmly lays him back down.  "And you will need it.  You forget I know how your body works in these scenarios."

“Didn’t forget any of that,” Hal mutters, but hasn’t the fight to push back and so settles for catching Sinestros’ wrist. “Hey. You’ll make sure they get back here, right?” It’s probably a silly question (Batman would say warranted, in this case, but Batman doesn’t know Sinestro like his files make him think he does), but the part of Hal that sends a small tendril of fear to Thaal’s ring is the same part that could use the reassurance. For all of Sinestro’s airs, he is, after all, just as hot under the collar when his heart’s in a fight.

If Sinestro is honest, which he usually is with himself, the fate of Hal's friends is not his highest priority.  However, he was aware of the situation he was getting into when he first responded to the call, so instead he leans in and murmurs, "You have my word."  Then he kisses Hal the way he wanted to earlier, hoping that this will at least quell Hal's restlessness for a while so the man will let himself recover.

Hal sinks back with a muffled sound of approval lost to the meeting of their lips. His free hand raises to ghost along Sinestro’s jaw, encouraging as he opens up to the kiss. The softness and warmth and whole hearted reciprocation held at bay before given over without hesitation. The fear from before all but vanishes in the wake of one simple promise, and Hal briefly wonders if he should have let it linger, but the thought quickly vanishes alongside most others and for a moment he lets himself relax into the surety of Sinestro’s words.


	5. Blowing the Popsicle (Stand)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting the heck out of dodge is a lot easier when everyone has the same game plan.

Bruce knows he’s in trouble when overhearing the panicked chattering on the other side of the corridor brings with it a large amount of grim satisfaction. Finding your comrades strewn about the halls will do that for most species. And as much as he can’t condone how Sinestro wielded it and why, he certainly understood the _usefulness_ of deploying fear to one’s own benefit. Scattering your enemies, of course, is perhaps one of the oldest tactics to use, but its efficacy speaks for itself.

Besides, his difficulty doesn’t spring from inciting the fear – merely the intense amount of deeply rooted, undeniable _satisfaction_ that follows.

He’s enjoying it.

But then, he’s always enjoyed his work to some extent. Clark has commented more than once on the ‘creepy smiles’ Bruce swears he doesn’t actually deliver – and then offers one when he knows only Clark will catch it. It’s just that usually that’s from a job well done, or at most an extreme irony he can’t help but take some joy from, because whatever else is said about him, he _is_ still human and he’ll take all the joy he can in this line of work. He knows what keeps him sane.

Except what keeps him sane is millions of miles away, and down the hall, poisoned, dying, and alone. So he sows fear and paranoia through a smattering of unconscious guardsmen and shrieking slaves. Moving as a shadow while forced to remain in the light is beyond second nature by now, and with the confusion and building uncertainty swirling around him, it’s not terribly challenging to incite more of the same. Most forms of sentience in the universe have a type of mass hysteria, he’s learned.

And if causing some also happens to regenerate the power reserves of a man he wishes were not a tentative ally at the moment, well, he will deal with the aftermath later.

So he makes his way deeper into the bowels of the one enterprise that actually seems disgustingly universal, slips past the guards to ensure their shock and building terror adds to the atmosphere when they respond to the call for aid another hall over, and sweeps into Clark’s holding cell once more. It’s never easy seeing the Kryptonian so sickly and pained, but Bruce merely sets his jaw and steels his nerves, crouching down to tap a pair of fingers against Clark’s throat so his suit can read the man’s vitals.

“Can you move?”

Clark is somehow both hugely relieved and incredibly unsurprised to see Bruce, flying into his cell like a bat out of hell, pun...somewhat intended.  Bruce is clearly irritated, which is a bit endearing even through the haze of pain as Clark feels his cellular structure being literally destroyed. 

"Hey," he responds, and his voice sounds a little more like a croak than he intends but he manages to smile.  "Fancy meeting you here."

Bruce grunts and runs his fingers contemplatively around the ridge of the collar once his suit begins reading out all the predicted levels of decay. He frowns in spite of himself, disliking how close to the higher end of the predicted range Clark is. “Stop ending up in places like this… and I’ll stop meeting you in them,” he mutters, checking the time again as he waits for the signal from his plane that the other two have made it there. It shouldn’t be much longer.

"It was for a good cause," Clark replies, with as much cheek as he can muster, and then grunts a little in pain.  "Couldn't let Lantern go off on his own."  He tries his best to sit up, but all he manages to do is torturously lift his head.

Batman’s shoulder slips under to support Clark’s head. It’s a thoughtless movement that eases them closer, and careless, because it makes it harder for Bruce to react should someone walk in on them. “Altruistic as usual – even when he’s the one better equipped to call for help.” He turns them slightly, trying to keep a better eye on the door, at least. A soft chirp in his ear tells him his ship has been safely boarded, so he shifts to get a better angle on the slim metal wrapped around Clark’s neck. “He just made it to my ship,” Bruce reports, deciding to leave out pertinent details that might make the Kryptonian stress more.

Somehow, despite the stabbing sensation throughout his body, Clark manages to raise his eyebrows.  Last he saw, Hal was being dragged off with a prospective customer.  "He was taken by a buyer, did he—?”

“His backup,” Batman curtly explains, slipping his hand along the collar again in his bid to find its method of removal.

Clark sags a little in relief.  "Good."  After a pause, he notices Bruce is trying to detach the collar and instinctively lifts his hands to it, but there is no strength in his arms.  A wave of dizziness and weakness washes over him, and he drops his hands again.

“Can you get to your feet?” Bruce’s voice is lower than he intended, but it’s the only way to keep his tone cool. They’ll just have to make do for now—there’s a sharp flash of green light and he instinctively moves his hand to guard his face just as the chink and crunch of shattering metal sounds. When he drops his hand again, pieces of the collar are strewn about between them. He catches sight of still gleaming green and immediately snatches it up to secure it in a lead lined pouch along his belt. “Lantern must be ready to go,” he announces, turning his attention back to Clark.

The pain from the kryptonite is gone, but he's still severely weakened and will need a good soak in a yellow sun to heal.  Despite it being no less uncomfortable, it's not the first time Clark has been through this and he's feeling relatively chipper now that he knows everything is resolving, more or less.  "Ah, that's--"  Clark has to pause to heave a painful breath as he pushes himself up.  "That's good.”

Bruce follows him up, frowning after. The collar is gone, at least, and whatever ill-conceived plan of Hal’s with it, he supposes. Sometimes, he could swear Green Lanterns actually run on luck, but finds himself more willing to just take advantage of it rather than get too irritated by it. Carefully laid plans, after all. “We need to move. I’ve set their dampening fields to a steady drain, but the moment we make our exit, I’m dropping them completely.” Even as the words leave his mouth, however, he remains unmoving, waiting for Clark to collect himself.

"Understood."  Clark switches quickly back to business, trying his darnedest not to wink, but still leaning more on Bruce than he would otherwise.  The removal of the collar helped give him a second wind, but standing drained most of that pretty quickly.  He's hoping that if he takes a few breaths, he'll be able to mostly move out of this room.  In the meantime, he makes a mental note to thank Hal later.

It's pretty obvious they aren’t going to make it far if they have to rely on Clark to move. That much Bruce can tell in moments of watching Clark _try_. How that affects their chances of getting out, however, depends on variables he knows he can’t track. Perhaps a little more chaos wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

He steps in close enough to drag Clark’s arm over his shoulder and then wraps his own arm around the man’s waist, choosing to support him directly instead. “Come on. Step with me. It’ll be quicker.” With the guards already running scared, they might be able to slip onto the ship relatively unnoticed.

With the guards running scared they might even have backup, although he finds himself almost wishing that wasn’t the case.

Clark takes the offered hand gladly.  It's not every day that Batman reaches out of his own volition, and Clark will take what he can get.  He leans further into Bruce's grip and works on taking one step at a time.  He says nothing, knowing Bruce will likely only be more irritated, but the feeling of Bruce, solid and warm, is a comfort.

Batman nods in return, firming his grip and moving them together. The Kryptonian is heavier than he appears – which is a bit damning given his already large frame – but it’s a weight he’s familiar with. This certainly isn’t the first time he’s had to carry the fool from battle and it probably won’t be the last, but as much as he wants to chastise the man for it, he presses his lips into a thin line and moves forward in silence. Tactically it wasn’t the best move. That he knows without a doubt. But he also knows he would have done the same if he’d been in Clark’s position and he knows how many times Superman has had to carry him from the field.

They’ve always been quite the pair.

So he hefts his companion again and shifts to free a hand for the door, casting a sidelong look to make sure Clark’s ready before they head into the hall.

Clark can tell Bruce is irritated, and knows he's probably going to get it later, but there's not much he can do about it now.  Plus, Bruce is always begrudgingly concerned and therefore grumpily sweet when Clark is injured.  Not that Clark is a masochist or anything, but that's always the bright spot when he's injured.  Granted, with how Bruce acts the rest of the time, Clark thinks maybe he _is_ a bit of a masochist. 

Not as much as Hal though, and Clark wonders if Green Lantern is doing all right.  He hopes Hal's backup was able to get him out without too much fuss.

The door slides open before them and the clamor of people rushing about, occasional shouts and forcibly hushed voices rushes in. The sound dampening on the room creates an eerie pocket of calm amidst the sounds of muted panic. There’s no one immediately in their path, however, so Batman steps forward, surveying the hall constantly as he draws them into it. It’s not the best gambit, but it’s the best he has and for the moment it seems to be working.

“It’s a bit of a walk,” he murmurs to Clark with a nod towards the end of the hall. “Lantern should have the ship ready to go by the time we get to the docking bay.”

Clark feels a wave of affection at the tone in Bruce's voice.  Beneath the grumpiness, there's a grain of fondness that comes from having saved the world and/or universe together, even when it's about Hal, even if Bruce is notoriously bad at getting along with Hal.  But Hal's a good guy, and also a good pilot.  Clark manages a smile.  One of the easiest ways to tell whether someone should be considered an experienced Leaguer, besides how well they deal with Batman, is whether they can accurately predict when Hal will commandeer and fly--and probably crash-land--whatever form of plane or spacecraft is at hand.  (The answer is always.) 

"I'm impressed," Clark grunts, only half-teasing, "This is a heck of a diversion."

Bruce tightens his hold warningly, but says nothing as they continue down the hall. It’s hardly impressive and mainly done for reasons he’d prefer weren’t actually relevant, but it is what it is and it’s working so he’s not going to voice any complaints. Even if he has many. Especially when Clark can’t possibly understand the reason for them and he needs the man focused on getting out of here rather than letting him get distracted by—

“I found them!”

“Down!” Bruce snaps as he shoves Clark to the far wall and dodges the T’leran equivalent of a stun gun. By the time the guard finishes adjusting his aim, there’s a batarang neatly embedded in the firing mechanism. He gives a shocked yelp and scrambles to pull another from his belt.

Weakly, Clark tries to raise a fist to help, pushing himself forward with as much force as possible, mostly by using Bruce as an unmoving object.  It's worked pretty well in the past.  Unfortunately, past Clark probably was not quite as destroyed by kryptonite as current Clark is. The end result of which becomes Bruce dodging back towards him, catching and downing the guard in one swift kick to their temple just as another one swings around the bend at the end of the hall. The end of Bruce’s attack spins him well enough to launch two more batarangs at the newcomer.

“Stop!” Bruce barks over his shoulder at the Kryptonian still struggling to fight. He glances back down the hall, hears the shouts change and shift closer towards them and adjusts his plans with a tap to the remote tucked into a pouch on his belt. Immediately, a new sound overtakes all the muted chaos as a claxon wails from the ceiling, causing Bruce to grimace and activate a dampener in his hood as he turns instinctively back towards Clark, knowing the pain and disorientation the Kryptonian usually suffered only to find himself momentarily thankful the man was too far from recovery to really be bothered.

Clark is about to protest, but any words he might have put together amid the distracting cacophony of the alien siren is firmly pushed to the side when another guard comes running around the corner, weapon out.  Bruce lifts a hand, but before even he can move, a new figure turns the same corner in front of them, bathed in a yellow glow.  Clark squints at it, trying to steady his blurry vision enough to see through the painfully bright light to figure out who they were facing.  He's not very successful, but he can hazard a guess.

"...Sinestro?"

“Back up,” Bruce repeats, all of his dislike of the entire situation rolling into those two simple words. He moves his arm to better block the splattering of light and tries to squint through it to see around the unneeded floodlight of yellow energy. “Is that _necessary_?” he growls towards their temporary accomplice. 

Through a yellowish haze, Clark sees Bruce’s expression, and he tries to lift a hand to help.  Bruce flicks him a quick look before turning back to keep an eye on Sinestro, but Clark can tell that a) they are supposed to be allied with Sinestro for now, and b) Bruce is very uncomfortable with this but likely felt it was necessary.  (Even significantly weakened by kryptonite poisoning, Clark can still read Bruce’s glances.  He’s good like that.) 

Everything more or less slides into place about then, though—Hal, the buyer, the way Hal had suddenly perked up after having his butt fondled…  “Bruce,” he tries, touching Bruce’s arm with great effort.

In the meantime, Sinestro calmly lifts a hand and shoots a blast of yellow at the slaver still running toward the two humans, slicing the T'leran cleanly in half.  Then he blinks down at the light and makes some mental adjustments.  The light dims slightly.

The white lenses of Bruce’s cowl narrow minutely as he looks down at the body on the floor and stay that way as he lifts his gaze once more. “We. Do not. _Kill_.” The words are terse and forced out between clenched teeth. Then he turns with a flick of his cape, pushing his mind and his body back to the problem at hand in lieu of continuing to deal with a lantern with somehow glaringly worse impulse control than _Guy Gardner_.

" _You_ do not kill," Sinestro replies, amused.  "I do what I please."  He gestures nonchalantly at where Clark is sliding down the wall without support.  "You seem to have more important concerns, regardless."

Bruce is there, seconds later, tucking a shoulder under and dragging an arm over his shoulders to heft Clark up to his feet again. His silence is stony and marked as he pointedly checks over Clark again, making sure nothing happened during the brief flurry of movement that separated them. “You sought my aid, you play by _my_ rules, Lantern.” The disgruntled hiss of his words is startling in its familiarity and he can’t help a displeased twist of his lips as a result. 

At this point, Clark figures Sinestro is their best bet out of here.  Clearly he must be on good behavior because of Hal-related reasons, and Clark, while sympathetic to Bruce’s plight, is probably less concerned than he should be about the T’leran slavers.  Maybe it’s the kryptonite talking.  “ _Bruce_ ,” he tries again, momentarily tightening his hand on Bruce’s arm. 

"I believe the agreement was _mutual_ , Batman."  Sinestro idly blasts another slaver that comes screaming past, although this time he doesn't do anything graphic.  Batman can stew over whether he actually killed slaver #2. 

In a swift movement, Sinestro's light winks out and he lands gracefully on the ground.  No use in wasting resources right now, after all.

“Is the way clear?” Bruce demands, gaze clearly following the most recent casualty and not looking terribly happy about it.

"At present," Sinestro affirms, still smirking as he turns to float back in the direction of the ship.  "Would you like some help with your Kryptonian?"

Immediately, numbers fill Bruce’s mind. Estimated time of arrival if hauling Superman on his back. Approximate chances of complete recovery with poison removed, but without immediate medical attention due to length of time taken to return to his ship and the facilities there. The lowest amount of time Sinestro might need to transport them both to his ship.

The amount of lives possibly saved by distracting Sinestro with a secondary task.

The utter disgust at considering allowing it.

“… Get us to the ship.” Ultimately, potential loss of life is the best motivator. “We don’t know how long we have until they get that dampener back online. I want to be out of their airspace by then.”

This is a fair assessment, and Sinestro acquiesces easily.  He tends to do poorly with orders, but Batman is clearly only doing it because he's unsettled, and Sinestro rides a wave of smug satisfaction to walking briskly back in the direction of Batman's ship.  "Suit yourself."

Why is it always _Lanterns_?

Bruce can _feel_ his blood pressure rising. Two of his colleagues were captured to be sold into _slavery_. Superman spent several hours poisoned by kryptonite. And after spending so much time interacting with their captors, _still_ his blood only boils because of a _lantern_. Damn the color, they were all infuriating.

“Your _ring_ ,” he bites out, unable to completely unclench his jaw, but managing at least cold demand rather than succumbing to the urge to punch Sinestro in the kidney. (If he even had any.)

Sinestro grins at the chill in that voice.  "Would you like me to do something with my ring?" Sinestro asks, moving into a backwards float and thoroughly enjoying himself.

Clark only sighs.  “Bruce.  It’s okay.”

Bruce goes very still for a short moment; breathing out low and steady before readjusting his hold on Clark and straightening slightly. Although he’s cognizant of his own weaknesses enough to admit he is not often as serene as he attempts to be, he _can_ pull off a bit of inner peace as needed to get the job done. Fortunately, he just happens to be monumentally better at pulling that sort of stability out of thin air when Clark is there with him.

“I _did_ lower the dampening field for that reason,” he answers, somehow without the anger and spite spilling out alongside.

It's more the thought of Hal waiting on the ship than anything else that makes Sinestro end his torment of the Batman, and activate the ring to float Superman into the air, just high enough to ease the weight from Batman's shoulders. 

Clark pets Bruce's shoulder from his new position, as if to say "good job".

Bruce grunts slightly under his breath and straightens enough to haul Clark at a swift jog instead of the awkward stumble of before. If he really had to, he’s sure he could have hauled the burly Kryptonian the entire distance, but this way, at least, frees him up to handle any oncoming threats more easily. Still, he can’t help but think that _Hal_ would have just picked them up and bubbled them out – or perhaps sailed, or tucked them into a ship of some kind, but doubtlessly he would have provided actual transportation and defense and –

Well it was certainly a hell of a day that left him wishing to exchange current company for Hal Jordan and his ridiculous constructs, yet here they are in the midst of a hobbled search-and-rescue because a non-reformed supervillain felt like drawing things out. He briefly contemplates dropping the damn shield into place again out of spite.

Clark's hand begins to move in slow soothing motions on Bruce's back.  "I'm fine, B." 

Sinestro smirks at the gesture, able to tell he's still riling up the bat.  "Problem?" he asks casually.

The fact that Bruce can practically _hear_ Hal’s influence in the question somehow just makes him huff lightly in response, removing some of the bite in his words. "Plenty," he gruffly announces and then turns his attention back to possible points of attack.

Sinestro smugly leads the way back toward the ship.  Batman's irritation is spurring the man into being grouchier than usual, which, when a few more slavers run into their hallway, results in Sinestro's ring getting an excellent charge of power just from the force of Batman's stare.

With Sinestro’s dubious help, making it back the ship is more of a timed event than a possibility. It does little to help Batman’s mood, however, as he spends most of the time taking down any and everyone who comes near with a paranoid efficiency. Better they’re taken down swiftly with manageable injuries than for the glowing menace to deliver his version of justice. He keeps Clark close, tugging him onward after every encounter no matter how much like a balloon the Kryptonian is starting to feel. So long as they move forward he doesn’t really care.

When finally they reach the docking area again, he can’t help a quirk of his lips from seeing his ship floating, barely restrained from liftoff and already mostly decoupled from its moorings. At least Hal can be predictable when there’s a craft capable of flight nearby. He breaks into a run then, darting forward to trigger the proximity sensor that will open the doors, and tugging Superman in along with. Behind them, Sinestro’s pace remains far more leisurely – Bruce tries not to think about the man’s methods in dealing with a docking crew largely made up of slaves scrambling for cover and smacks a wall panel as he drags Clark into the hallway.

Behind him, the entryway closes just as Sinestro turns to make his way on to the ship.

Ahead of them, Hal calls back, “Ship says there’s only two of you?”

“Clark’s on board.”

“… Did Sin not pick you up?!” Hal’s half turned in his seat by the time Bruce drags Clark into the small bridge and settles him into the spare seat.

“This should give you the most access to the solar radiation until we clear the planet and I can set up a bed,” Bruce lowly explains as he checks Clark’s vitals in lieu of answering Hal who seems stuck somewhere between anger and concern.

"No, he—he       did," Clark struggles to reply to Hal, feeling that Sinestro deserves credit for coming back for them, no matter how questionable his methods.

“Then where the hell did he—?” Hal’s attention jerks forward again when a flash of light and a residual shockwave that follows rocks the ship slightly just as Sinestro floats into view outside the cockpit. He flicks the comm switch thoughtlessly and immediately resumes takeoff operations. “The hell’re you still doing out there?!” he barks into the mic, twisting again to open the exit door once more. “Get in! We’re blowing this popsicle stand and you’re coming with whether you like it or not!”

"What is a pop-sih-kul?" Sinestro replies, floating inside casually as he attempts to sound out the word.  He doesn't bother mentioning why he hadn't come inside in the first place—it doesn't seem like it matters at this point.  Hal wants him here and that's—surprisingly nice.  He floats a little closer to Hal, not quite touching.

“Dessert,” Hal chimes with a broad grin back over his shoulder. “Hold tight!” he suggests on a wink, promptly yanking the primary thrusters online and slamming them into a sharp, vertical launch. It takes a second for the inertial dampeners to kick in and by the time they have, there’s an explosion below, where the ship used to be. Hal laughs through the kick of adrenaline that sings in his veins, and fires off a pair of missiles into the energy dampening facility just before they clear the atmosphere.

“A little… excessive, Lantern,” Batman gruffly notes as he finishes unhooking his cape and drapes it over Hal’s lap.

“Aw, I didn’t know you cared, Spooky~” Hal croons with a bat of his eyelashes. “But seriously, we all know I’ve got no shame, I think Supes might appreciate it more.”

“Superman is photosynthetic. You are not. Focus on flying.”

“Spoilsport.”

"I—am not a plant," Clark observes calmly from the other side of the room.  Photosynthetic isn't exactly _inaccurate_ , but the terminology brings a wry expression to his mouth.  Also, he's injured.  That means he can get away with more trolling of Bruce than usual.

“Indeed,” Bruce flatly agrees while casually turning and promptly decking the Korugarian just behind the pilot’s chair.

Sinestro launches backward from the force, but uses a little of his remaining power to stabilize.  He raises an eyebrow at Batman, largely unruffled, aware that Batman usually wants to fight him but surprised the man actually acted on it this time.

“Hey, hey, whoa there, Bats.” Hal tries to snatch Bruce’s wrist but lands somewhere around his elbow, the ship turns and something grazes their shielding close enough to shake the whole thing again. “Shit—” he spins back around to the controls again, a laugh escaping in spite of himself. “Look, I know he’s a dick, but he’s been a good dick so far, okay? Less punching, maybe?”

“Get us out of here,” Batman growls, stepping away from the pilot chair to push into Sinestro’s personal space. “And you get off my ship.”

"Excuse me?"  Sinestro is completely aware that Batman dislikes him, but had expected civility after the helping hand, so to speak.  (Apparently Jordan is rubbing off on him in more ways than one.) 

"...what's going on?" Clark asks from the other side of the room.

“Alpha posturing?” Hal dryly offers, not looking up from the controls to mediate and banking hard to the right to avoid another few volleys.

“I realize you prefer to deflect anything even slightly emotionally compromising—”

“Oh _that’s_ rich—”

“—but he crossed a line back there—”

“Crossed a – Sin, did you fucking kill someone? I _know_ I’ve told you about—”

"To be fair," Clark tries to contribute, "it was _unclear_ if the second... employee was actually deceased."

“That is _not_ what I—”

“Barrel roll!”

Bruce grabs the back of Hal’s chair as the ship spins to avoid their pursuers. “Third button to your two o’clock, Lantern!”

Hal spends half a second longer with the controls before smacking as directed, immediately stabilizing the small crew within the cockpit as the g-forces bleed away. “Seriously?! _Why_ is that manual??”

Sinestro floats closer to Hal, somewhat unwilling to just leave.  "I do not understand, Rodent Human."  He specifically uses the translator so that the name comes through mangled.  "What is it, exactly, that you believe I've done?"

The white lenses narrow sharply again. “The deal was getting both of them out, _not_ playing judge, jury, and executioner—”

“Can we talk about this _after_ reinforcements arrive??” Hal manages half a glance in Sinestro’s direction, most of his attention still devoted to clearing the planetary defenses.

“—and _not_ taking advantage of Hal—”

“Hey! That part was—”

“I don’t _care_ how effective it was—” Bruce snaps, shifting enough to put a hand on Hal’s shoulder in a gesture so unexpected that Hal just kind of blinks in confusion. “Something like that is never expected of you.”

“I uh… thanks? I think?”

"Wait, _what_?" Clark interjects from the background. 

"I beg your _pardon_ ," Sinestro all but snarls at Batman, his eyes sparking with fire. 

"...can someone explain what's going on?" Clark tries again.

“I _knew_ your English was better than that.” Hal glances back with the quip, trying to gauge exactly how riled up Sinestro’s getting and if he should give up his actually pretty fun job at the moment to deal with it.

“It’s not me you should be begging for a pardon.”

 “Okay, seriously, I hate to break up this party, but what’s our ETA to the cavalry?” Hal interrupts again, spinning them around and putting their current position on the screen with a broad gesture. “Because all those pretty lights want to kill us right now, and unless Sin stole another battery at some point? There’s no way we have enough firepower to deal with it.”

"My Corps is on its way."  Sinestro's voice is cold as he glares at Batman, but he moves closer to Hal and doesn't make any further actions. 

"...seriously, guys," Clark says weakly.  "What happened?"

“Then you can wait for them outside,” Bruce gruffly announces. “Hal, get us out of here.”

“I’m givin’ her all she’s got, Cap’in!”

Even through the mask, Batman’s stare is withering.

“Seriously, what do you expect me to do?” Hal demands, gesturing to the screen again.

“Up.”

“What?”

“Get up.”

“But I—”

“Yeesh, okay, okay, hands off the goods.” Hal pushes off Bruce’s attempts to manhandle him out of the chair, and scrambles out on his own, dropping the cape to the ground in the process.

“You had time to put clothes on.”

“Hey, at least I put something on the _chair_!” Hal surreptitiously yanks the blue cloth he was sitting on up after him. Bruce gives him another, brief look, but doesn’t comment as he slips into the chair instead, so Hal turns to Sinestro, expression sobering slightly. “Level with me, okay? How long before your guys show? Because you _know_ shit’s going down the second our Corps see each other and I’m not in the mood to deal with a war right now.”

"They have strict instructions not to attack your Corps," Sinestro replies, still blatantly ignoring Bruce. 

Clark is distracted by the colorful bruising now visible on Hal's neck and collar, and the streaks of white residue on his thighs.  "Hal, are you okay?"

“Eh?” Hal returns on a blink, casting a somewhat distracted smile towards the Kryptonian. “Oh, ah, never better! Honestly, shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“You should be buckling in,” Bruce announces, his interactions with the controls obviously more forceful than _strictly_ needed. “I’m getting us home –”

“Whoa, hold up! I can’t leave now!” Hal immediately contests. “This rig barely had enough juice to get long range comms running before we jumped. You think my guys are _expecting_ another Corps?”

“ _Hal_ , they’ll be _fine_. _You_ on the other hand-”

“I’m not going. We – fuck I can’t believe I’m even saying this – but we need to wait for Sin’s Corps to show first.”

"You're sure you're all right?" Clark asks from the corner, eyeing Hal skeptically.  Now he's concerned all over again.  Bruce had _said_ Hal was okay, but—Hal looks a little like he's been ravaged. 

Sinestro says nothing, just turns a smug expression to the back of Batman's head and slides a possessive hand around Hal's waist.

“… _We_ don’t have that much time,” Bruce bites out with a side glance at Clark, immensely disliking not only having to mention it at all, but also the position it puts Hal in _again_.

Hal just sighs and swipes a hand over his eyes. “Then worry about Supes. _He’_ s the one that needs to, I don’t know, bathe in a sun or something. Besides, I’m a big boy; I can prevent intergalactic incidents all on my own, promise,” is the dry addendum that follows as he allows himself to settle back into Sin’s hold.

"I'm all right."  Clark tries to sound reassuring.  Honestly, though, the sun is helping. 

Sinestro's hand slides further around Hal's waist.

“Guess this is our stop, then,” Hal announces while shifting his weight to accommodate the hold without allowing his various sore areas to get too uncomfortable. It’s a process – and one Bruce notes with a frown even in the midst of maintaining the distance from planetary defenses Hal created for them. “You’ve got enough to keep us going until everyone shows up, right?” Hal’s words are light as he tosses them towards Sinestro, even if he’s less than inclined to deal with the man’s underlings – particularly while naked and depowered. Sin will enjoy himself at least.

"I can handle it," Sinestro answers confidently, his hand now starting to move gently against Hal's skin.  It's 100% a show for Batman.  Hal probably won't even notice. 

"You can't just kick them off the ship," Clark tries, wishing he were feeling good enough to walk back over to the conversation.  It's a lot harder to convince Bruce to listen when Clark can't touch him.

Kick Sinestro off? Yes. _Hal_ , though? Bruce’s gaze says enough as he casts it back towards Sinestro, narrowed and chilling on the Korugarian and then thawing when it slips to the human in his hold. “… Don’t forget to brief us when you get back,” is all he says, however, turning stiffly forward again and activating the door lock.

Hal just rolls his eyes heavenward and then drops his gaze back to Superman instead. “Get well soon and all that. I’d send you flowers, but I’m pretty sure you’ll be on your feet before they make it back.” He gives a lazy, two-finger salute and turns into Sinestro’s hold. “Ready when you are.”

"Thanks, Hal," Clark says, "You take care of yourself."  He feels like he should offer more, but Hal is clearly going to leave no matter what anyone says, so...Clark figures it's better to just let the lantern go. 

Sinestro still says nothing, but gives Bruce an expression that Hal would likely describe as shit-eating (although Sinestro is still unclear regarding the relation of consuming one's feces with that particular feeling) and drags Hal back to the airlock.

 

* * *

 

 

Bruce punches in their course with more emphasis than strictly needed, jolting the ship into interstellar speeds before he can think better of his actions. There’s a low thrum of frustration and anger that always seems to gather in his nerves around Hal Jordan – and lanterns in general. Now, though, there is far more irritation that lingers in his movements and it’s the instrument panel that takes the brunt of his anger.

He hadn’t wanted to do that.

And this is exactly why he hates off-planet missions.

At least on Earth, even when shit hits the fan he can work with whatever’s thrown at him. Earth is full of known variables. Space is… difficult. Hard to pin down. Impossible to pre-determine. And full of people and situations he frequently has no time to prepare for. It’s one thing when the lack of preparation for, say, hacking T’leran computer systems means he needs to fall back on old tactics and think on the fly to overcome the technical limitations present. It’s another entirely when every part of him that has ever played detective is telling him to turn around and drag Hal Jordan back with them.

He unbuckles from the pilot seat and pushes himself over to Clark instead, refocusing on a task that will actually help someone for the time being. There’s a med kit to dig out from one of the wall consoles – conveniently in the cockpit and full of Kryptonian-effective implements, because if there is one thing he can be prepared for in space it’s the reason he’s most likely there. So he opens the box, swift and silent still, and pulls out a bag of solution he can hang off the side of Clark’s chair.

Only then, when some of his frustrated energy has been spent, can he push back the cowl and tug off his gloves to allow him an easier time to feel out an appropriate vein for the IV. Kryptonian anatomy is not _quite_ the same, after all, and he’s always found it easier, when forced into situations like this, to feel it out. The still somewhat thready pulse under his fingers helps too.

Clark can sense the irritation, which is even more pronounced than usual for a kryptonite situation.  His strength is coming back, though, the full glow of solar energy through the window warming him slowly.  He'd heal faster from direct exposure, but that would kill Bruce, so.  Clark isn't exactly complaining. 

He reaches a hand up to Bruce's slightly stubbly cheek, knowing from past experience that he can get away with more than usual when he's poisoned.  "Hey."

“Hold still,” Bruce mutters, gaze lidding as he focuses, but doesn’t actually move out of the caress. He shifts, pressing down with a thumb to hold his spot and then pulls the needle over and carefully pushes it in. It takes a bit more effort than he’d anticipated, which is something of a relief, considering. “We’ll slow down once we’re out of the system,” he breathes, taping over the IV and settling back.

Clark grins to himself, noting that Bruce hasn't moved away from the touch despite all the grumbling.  "You okay?" he pushes again.  Despite being an overall decent person, Clark will always take advantage of a slightly more allowing Batman.  Plus, he really does want to make sure the man is all right—that argument with Lantern sounded...well, more growly than usual.

“Fine,” Bruce grits out, pauses, and then sighs quietly, swiping a hand down over his face. “I should have brought him with us.”

"Lantern can take care of himself."  Clark is confident of this fact.  "...in space, I mean."  Less so when it comes to groceries and rent, but no one's perfect.  He makes a soothing motion with his hand.

Bruce’s expression turns wry before he can help it, catching Clark’s gaze briefly. “He’ll save everyone but himself and you know it.”

"I don't pretend to know what Sinestro's motivations are, but—"  Clark hesitates, because his observation skills are probably his best asset in his own mind, but Sinestro _is_ a supervillain, or has been.  "—he _did_ rescue Lantern."

“Did he?” Bruce stiffly returns. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks more like he insinuated himself into my rescues plans in order to put Lantern into a position where he couldn’t refuse his advances. Then, he took advantage of our situation in order to keep him in that position for the foreseeable future.”

"Have you thought that maybe Lantern... wanted to go with him?"

Bruce’s gaze narrows sharply. “He didn’t have a choice. You heard him. He didn’t argue what he wanted to do, he was arguing about what he thought had to be done.” He leans forward slightly with the words, instinctively pushing for Clark’s input. He already knows his own thoughts, of course, but even recovering from kryptonite poisoning that bad, Clark remains his best sounding board. Always has been.

Clark smiles, despite himself.  Bruce sometimes got into his own head so badly he forgot he wasn't everyone's overprotective father.  "I thought it was more that he was...protective?  It's sort of like you and Se--Catwoman.  She's your rogue, but you don't like other people saying so."

“Catwoman has never tried to kill me,” Bruce quietly points out, perhaps more quickly than needed. He settles back, though, clearly more grounded as the conversation unfurls no matter his lingering doubts. “Lantern is putting himself in a situation he cannot get himself out of and he’s doing it by putting himself in a place he doesn’t need to be, without any way of contacting anyone for help.”

"And you had Damian show up on your doorstep."  He'd been trying to follow Bruce's rules regarding names and missions, but they're honestly not near anyone else right now, and Clark needs to make a point.

“That’s an entirely different scenario,” Bruce murmurs, brow furrowed in a manner that clearly displays his own confusion over Damian being brought up at all. Talia, perhaps, but not Damian himself.

Clark reads the confusion clearly.  "Damian exists at all because you were in—a relationship with Talia," he explained.  "Most of the League didn't even know she existed until Damian appeared.  Is your relationship with Talia so different from Hal's with Sinestro, at the core of it?"

A long silence follows, which is better, all things considered, than the whiplash anger that lances through Bruce at the thought. He’s _still_ not entirely sure what happened between him and Talia. Most of the time, he’s willing to set aside the details to focus on the here and now that tended to be Damian, but given how the concern was raised currently…

Well, it brings up some uncomfortable parallels.

“… I don’t think that helps your argument as much as you’re hoping it does,” he says at length, his words too tired and introspective to have been given to any other than Clark.

Clark is actually a quick thinker, despite how he looks to the majority of society, but that statement takes time to process.  When the words finally settle, he frowns.  "Bruce—"  He's angry, and he understands a little more why Bruce is so concerned about Hal.  Still—it’s not that Clark isn't concerned about Hal too, he just likes to believe the best in people, and Sinestro, as terrible as he's been on other fronts, seems to have a legitimate attachment to Hal. 

But Bruce is another matter.  In terms of sexual liaisons, Clark reflects, Hal lives the life that Bruce pretends at.  And that's what upsets Clark right now, is that for all that Bruce has had his fair share of partners, he's not nearly as much of a playboy as he looks.  In fact, Clark would venture that Bruce has had some sort of emotional attachment to every one of his partners who wasn't a one-night stand for Brucie.  Even then, there are far less of those than society is led to believe. 

Without his own noticing, Clark is already touching Bruce, a gentle comforting caress along his jaw that turns into a firm hold on his face, and then Clark is pulling Bruce down toward him.

Bruce leans into the hold instinctively. He could have evaded it entirely if he tried, but that was partially the point. It was good to feel some of the strength returning to Clark in the hold and the pull, but also the warmth of the lips drawing him in. It’s a relief, more than anything, to feel the subtly different texture of Kryptonian skin against his own – barely there to anyone willing to look, but still _there_ and less yielding by the second.

As it should be.

And anyway, kissing is easier than trying to continue the conversation just then. They both know he’s made his point for the moment and there’s no real refuting it without further evidence or input – neither of which they will have any time soon. So he lets his muscles unwind just enough to remind himself that his rescue plan worked, Clark is – perhaps not safe, but certainly safer – and they can get back to Earth under their own power.

Some days, it’s the most they can hope for.

 

* * *

 

 

Hal has done crazier things in his life. Honestly that might be part of the problem. Getting himself sold into slavery was so beyond normal that he spent whatever time he’d had to spare from worrying over Clark _reminiscing_ on his rookie ring-slinging days. While he’s not exactly inclined to give up a lot of the good that’s happened in between then and now, it’s nice to remember that at one point in his life, getting dragged buck-ass naked into space would have been new. Even though it’s not, it’s still kind of fun, he has to admit.

There’s a thrill to it, too, that didn’t used to be there. Sure, some of it is because they have to keep a certain distance from the planet’s defenses and defenders lest Sinestro’s ring get stripped of its remaining power and leave them floating in the void. Honestly, though, that’s really not _much_. Sinestro, much to Hal’s usual frustration, is just too damn good to let it happen. Now, it’s the sheer fact that it _is_ Sinestro that provides the majority of the thrill.

Because, honestly, Hal chose floating naked in a void at the mercy of Thaal Sinestro over staying in a ship helmed by Batman and headed for Earth.

Sure, some of it is duty. They are technically still in Sector 2814 after all, and he can’t just let these guys break all sorts of intergalactic laws on top of just being awful people. And there’s who knows how many people that need to be rescued and relocated and just thinking about it is enough to force his attention back to his own predicament instead.

Of course, keeping his mind from wandering through negatives would be a heck of a lot easier without the sheen of fear wrapped possessively over every inch of his skin, but Hal isn’t the best at what he does for nothing. Then again, that’s expected to follow the brute force exertion of willpower over fear, not the way he just lets his mind settle in the midst of it all. He’s supposed to be shoving a wall between himself and a type of energy that could undermine his ability to function with a green ring at all. Instead, he flirts with it.

Hey, he’s buck-ass naked and floating through space by way of Sinestro’s control over fear. Flirting, Hal thinks, is a perfectly good strategy at this point.  

Sinestro, as a matter of fact, is in no mood for risks right now.  He did not come this far across the universe to rescue his erstwhile trainee just to have them be entrapped again due to something clearly avoidable.  He tightens his grip on Hal's waist as he sees the man eyeing the slaver planet in the distance. 

Based on previous comments that Hal has made, Sinestro isn't particularly concerned about Superman (especially in his current weakened state), but he's wary of Batman.  While he could clearly take Batman if it came to it, Sinestro doesn't like the suspicion aimed at him.  _Sinestro_ was the one who came when called to play the hero and rescue the fair maiden.  Or, well, Hal, in this case.

“… Trying to add another bruise to the collection?” Hal quips and shifts his hip with Sinestro’s grip. “I think I liked the other method more, for the record.”

Immediately, Sinestro's hand lets go of Hal's hip, and then resettles there without force.  Sometimes he forgets how fragile human bodies are—Hal lives his life disregarding it, after all. 

Sinestro's just distracted.  He's still irritated because of Batman's implications that he was somehow harming Hal.  As if Sinestro would stoop to that level.  If he's to be harming Hal, he would just be fighting the man, where it's fair for them both to inflict injuries.

Hal can’t help the urge to furrow his brow and glance around them quickly, wondering at Sinestro’s uncharacteristic lack of reply. “Did I miss something?” he asks, shifting closer and sliding an arm around Sin’s waist in return: all too aware of everything he can’t do at the moment and so instinctively trying to make it easier for Thaal to take care of them both.

"Your rodent friend thought I was...taking advantage," Sinestro answers, still clearly miffed at the thought.

“Weren’t you?” Hal cheekily answers before he can entirely stop himself. He shakes his head lightly and relaxes now that he knows it’s not something they have to actively pay attention to and leans up to catch the corner of Sin’s mouth with his lips. “Don’t let Bats under your skin. He’ll just make a nest there, believe me.”

Sinestro lets Hal's easy sensuality distract him.  "I was only taking advantage so far as you wanted me to," he says against Hal's soft smirking mouth.  The statement is almost a question, something he'd like Hal to confirm just to be certain.

“Mm… Well no reason we couldn’t both take advantage of a shitty situation, hm?” Hal murmurs, tilting his head just enough to trail his lips to Sinestro’s jaw instead. Then something twists in his chest, perhaps a little more sharply and a bit more potent than usual and Hal doesn’t bother fighting the soft words that spill out soon after. “I’m glad you came.”

"I could hardly leave you to be—"  Sinestro cuts off sharply, pressing his lips together.  "You sent me a call for help, Jordan."

“Well, I sent a distress signal out,” Hal wryly corrects, letting out a huff of amusement. “And let’s be frank: normally you intercepting them doesn’t exactly benefit me. So yeah, this? This… turned out surprisingly nice.”

Sinestro raises an eyebrow, somehow amused.  "Jordan, I did not _intercept_ the signal.  You sent it directly to my ring."

“I did _what_?” Hal jerks his hand up from Sinestro’s waist as if staring at his currently unpowered ring is going to help in any way. He frowns at it. “I… No, there’s no way, you can’t be serious,” he announces, turning back to face Sinestro more directly. “It was practically auto-pilot! I don’t –“ His skin flames quickly when his brain catches up to his mouth (and promptly shuts it).

Of course it was automatic. Because who did he usually call for help when he got caught up in sentient trafficking problems? Never mind that he didn’t technically have the comm frequency for yellow rings. If his ring reached out for Sinestro’s, well… if there was any doubt in his mind about it going through it’s certainly gone now.

It's been years since Sinestro gave up trying to resist an adorably flushed Hal Jordan, and he doesn't bother now.  Hal's lips part easily for him as Sinestro rumbles a laugh in the middle of the kiss.

If Hal lets his eyes drift shut again in spite of all well-meaning survival instincts somehow still attempting to guide him, then, well, no one ever accuses him of being overly cautious. So he smirks into the kiss, amused in spite of himself (or perhaps because of, really, because of _all_ things to bring Sinestro to his side however briefly, it’s him actually asking).

It’s not like there’s anything he can do about the sudden arrival of two streaks of green light anyway.

"Found him," says Simon, coming to a stop a good distance from the planet he's looking for.  He frowns, seeing the clear glow of golden light across empty space.  "The only energy over there is yell--ya Allah."  He slaps a hand over his face.

“That’s… bad right?” Jessica hedges, pulling up short next to her partner, green energy barely restrained in its reach forward, towards their goal. Well, given Simon’s current state of disbelief, there didn’t seem to be reason to charge in guns blazing, no matter the itch. “The ring said it was an ‘unauthorized transmission’ – so… what? Only green is authorized and that’s Hal?” Is changing colors a thing? Not as though anyone told her.

"It means Sinestro's here."  Simon peeks out from between his fingers so he can float in the right general direction to approach the—yep, his instincts haven't failed him—couple kissing like they're 16-year-olds in front of third period physics.

“Uh,” Jessica articulates quite clearly before trailing off into a very confused, “seriously?” She stares. Awkwardly. So, okay, she’s been a Green Lantern for an ostensibly legitimate period of time and been involved in some world ending shit and dealt with weird, angry zombies that threw up napalm, but admittedly, this is the first time she’s seen an alien in a light other than here-to-blow-your-brains-out-or-possibly-eat-them and it appears he might still be attempting the latter in a roundabout fashion.

“… Ok, so the last time that name was mentioned it sounded a lot more like a problem that crops up a lot – although I guess that can explain it too?” She turns more directly towards Simon and adds, “Unless that’s something we need to fix? Stop? Stopfix?”

Simon sighs.  He never asked for this.  "So I guess this is part of Green Lantern 101 that Hal didn't give you?"  At Jessica's still-confused stare, he continues, "Sinestro is—a thing.  For Hal.  They're... kind of married?"  He glances over at them—definitely still making out—and tries again.  "This happens sometimes."

“We get an emergency call to save Fearless Leader from his husband?”

Simon sighs again.  "I think it may have been for something else, but, uh, his husband got here first."  He turns to his two mentors (technically), crosses his arms, and clears his throat loudly.

Hal jerks back, flushed and breathing heavily, the moment he hears the sound, knowing instantly it’s his own corps just by method of interruption and having at least an ounce of shame about it. “… Simon! Jessica! Tell me you aren’t the only two who got the message,” he immediately rambles, surreptitiously adjusting the overused blue cloth to cover him better below the waist. Given that most of him is still more or less attached to Sinestro, it doesn’t do much.

“Ah, no, but you said it was… an emergency?” Jessica offers, studiously looking off to the side rather than straight ahead and thus finally catching sight of the scrambling ships surrounding the nearest planet to them. “… Since I’m assuming it’s not, ah, your husband? It’s probably something to do with those?” she attempts, gesturing loosely to the amalgam of chaos beyond the space debris Hal and Sinestro seemed to have taken refuge behind.

“ _Husband_?” Hal sputters, gaze swinging wildly back to Simon in an instant.

Sinestro smirks, clearly amused and not bothering to make a correction.  It's not exactly _untrue_ , anyway. 

"I mean...you two _are_ married," Simon replies.  "And actually John sent us ahead while he goes to gather the troops."

Hal gives an awkwardly strangled sigh, caught between relief and the anxious need to correct. “Well, at least it made it to John. My ring’s been unusable for so long that when we finally got out of there, I had to use Batman’s ship to send the distress signal. Ah, don’t go over there, by the way. At least not yet. Bad mojo. Also we’re not … _married_ married. For the record.”

“What’s _married_ married?” Jessica parrots, still looking directly at the planet and nowhere else.

“… It’s complicated.”

“That’s not what your Facebook status says.”

“More complicated than that.”

“So, what, you’re single-married?”

“Yes??”

“Is this an alien thing?”

“N-no, okay, well, kind of. I guess we’re _technically_ married on a few planets…” Hal concedes and then quickly waves off. “But, uh, don’t say _husband_ around the Corps, will you? They don’t like being reminded of that.”

“What? _Why_?”

“… A long history of pretty valid reasons. Also we might still be at war with his Corps.” He turns back to Sinestro with eyebrows raised for input.

"My Corps has been given orders to work with the Green Lanterns for this mission," Sinestro answers, with a movement of his arms that Hal will at least understand is the equivalent of a human shrug.  "And by a 'a few' planets, Jordan means two hundred and seventy."

"Wasn't it two-hundred seventy-four last time?" asks Simon before he can stop himself.

“... Something like that.”

“How is that not ‘ _married_ -married’??”

Hal clears his throat. Loudly. “Anyway, you heard Sin – better tell the Corps we’ve got a temporary truce here, because I just spent a day getting dragged around by T’leran slavers and we kind of pissed them off when we left.”

"So... your husband rescued you from slavers?"   Simon glances at the planet, then back at the middle-distance behind Hal and Sinestro's still somewhat entwined figures. 

Sinestro's smirk widens.  "I like this one."

“Wait, didn’t you say Batman was here?” Jessica suddenly adds, looking around for said missing team member.

Hal just sighs and drags his hand back through his hair. “Look. _I_ was doing just fine. We were on a League mission, got caught up in a slave run… and you know how Supes can get. They don’t _have_ protocols for this, so when I saw they had – well it’s probably not _actually_ kryptonite? Close enough though, green glow and everything – and he went down like a sack of bricks I jumped in to keep him up, and Batman followed to dig us out…. Oh, and Sin helped.”

Sinestro simply pulls Hal a little more snugly against his side, unhelpfully caressing the exposed skin of Hal's waist while not bothering to add to the explanation. 

"All right, so...slavers."  Simon is trying to work this out so they can leave already, and let Hal and Sinestro go do...the things they usually do.  "Jessica and I can go take a look before John gets here?"

“… Only if you go dark,” Hal answers on a marked frown. “Spooky already took out the generator for the energy dampening they had going on, but it was very intense, and there’s smaller versions on their larger ships too. You get caught by yourself, they’ll snag you up real quick and there’s no telling how soon before they’ll get the planetary one online again.”

"I'm sure Jessica and I will keep each other out of trouble."  Simon pauses.  "And by 'Spooky' are you talking about Batman or your husband?"

Hal’s expression turns wry in spite of himself. “What, you didn’t pass the ship on your way back? It’s pretty hard to miss, you know – that _motif_.”

“… Were we supposed to be looking for a ship?” Jessica puts in, glancing to Simon rather than Hal again.

“Nah, he’s fine,” Hal quickly waves off, easy smirk quick to return. “Doubt he’d appreciate the interruption, anyway,” he adds on rather amused mutter.

Sinestro's hand slips under the back of the blue fabric around Hal's waist.

Hal arches up instinctively, just barely keeping the noise that tries to come out at bay.

Jessica continues to steadfastly stare down her partner. “So we’re going then?” she prompts, willpower flaring around her as she floats further away.

"Yep," Simon responds, a little too quickly, "Yep, that is our cue."

“Remember: don’t start any wars!” Hal calls after as they make a hasty exit back towards the swarm of ships.

Sinestro smirks and moves his hand lower.


End file.
